


The Mountain King

by Tiffany_Park



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-05 02:25:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 55,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3101927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiffany_Park/pseuds/Tiffany_Park
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SG-3 discovers that a desert planet isn't really as lifeless as it first appeared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

TITLE: The Mountain King

AUTHOR: Tiffany Park

STATUS: Complete

CATEGORY: Action/Adventure

SPOILERS: Singularity

SEASON: Early Season Two, set well before "The Fifth Race"

PAIRINGS: None

RATING: R

CONTENT WARNINGS: Language, violence

SUMMARY: SG-3 discovers that a desert planet isn't really as lifeless as it first appeared.

ARCHIVE: Please ask.

DISCLAIMER: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:   Look what I found hiding on my hard drive. Jeeze, it's over two years old. When I originally wrote this, I was experimenting with the whole whumping experience, and it might go a bit OTT there. It's also full of clichés and various sci-fi and fantasy references, which was fun for me but I don't know if anyone else will be pleased. *G* I was never really happy with how the thing turned out, but then I never am and besides, I figure the list could use a holiday and New Year's pick-me-up. This list is the only place in netdom where an SG3-only novella like this would be appreciated, anyway. *G* It's about three-quarters finished, so I'll be cleaning up and posting the earlier chapters as I work on completing it. Just FYI, I've never tried the WIP thing before, so posting will probably be erratic. I expect the nagging will be motivating, though. *G*

* * *

 

**January 1, 2015:** Okay, this is another ancient fic. I wrote it _waaaay_ back in 2006 for the MakepeaceSG-3 list at Yahoogroups. For anyone who might be interested in something so old about some minor characters, enjoy!

 

* * *

 

 

 

**The Mountain King**

**by**

**Tiffany Park**

 

 

 

 

Robert Makepeace hated enclosed spaces.

Not because he was claustrophobic. Quite the contrary; he'd never even have made it through the psych profiles, training, and physical conditioning required of the SGC's field personnel had that been the case. No, his concerns were based on pragmatic considerations—it was far too easy to be trapped with one's back to the wall in any place with no visible exits, no matter how large it might be.

Of course, having the Stargate nearby provided an escape route, but it took too much time in Makepeace's opinion to dial the thing up, wait for the wormhole to activate and stabilize, send through the GDC code, then wait for the response that indicated the iris had been opened back home so it was safe to go through. An entire firefight could be started and finished in the short time necessary before a team could hightail it back to Earth, and there was no guarantee they wouldn't be overpowered in the meantime by a superior force.

Unfortunately for Makepeace's peace of mind, the MALP originally sent to 3Y5-116 revealed the Stargate to be situated in an enclosed space, in which some kind of alien technology or warning system might still be operating. When the MALP had first arrived, the place had been pitch black. A moment later lights came on, undoubtedly activated by motion or proximity sensors. Other gadgets—perhaps less benign—might also still be functional.

The lights had revealed an enormous, cylindrical room, at least two hundred feet in diameter, made of a smooth, speckled, blue-gray material that glittered in the bright light. There were no windows or doors, although that didn't really mean anything—they could simply be hidden, or so well integrated into the curved walls as to be invisible.

Places like that set Makepeace's teeth on edge. It looked like a trap just waiting to happen. Who knew what might be lurking on the other side of those curving walls, ready to attack them?

So when he stepped out of the Stargate's event horizon onto this particular bit of alien real estate, he did so with his carbine cocked and held ready at his shoulder in firing position, his right eye already focused down the sights.

He moved off the Stargate's dais and stood to one side of the DHD and MALP, scanning the room as he waited for the rest of SG-3 to appear. When no alien surprises jumped out to bite him, Makepeace relaxed marginally, although he kept his weapon ready. He saw his team emerge from the Stargate out of the corner of one eye—the other eye was busy keeping watch on the seemingly innocuous surroundings.

His teammates were equally suspicious. As each man stepped out of the event horizon, he did a quick survey of the environment for threats before joining Makepeace next to the MALP.

"All right," Makepeace said once everyone had arrived, "let's give this place a good going over. If this is all there is to it, we'll head back."

The four Marines spread out, heading for different quadrants of the circular room. Makepeace moved off toward one wall and brushed a hand against it. The unadorned, blue-gray material was cool and satiny smooth, as though it had been highly polished. Tiny bits of crystal were scattered throughout it, glittering in the light. Makepeace looked up. The harsh, white light shone down from translucent globes that encircled the domed ceiling. Over a hundred feet above his head, they appeared to be just floating up there with no visible means of support.

"Colonel, I got something weird here," Corporal Henderson called from behind the Stargate.

Dismissing the mystery of the light globes, Makepeace joined the rest of his team as they gathered around Henderson, who was crouched at the dais, eyes focused on a two-foot tall metal column sitting at the corner. Its top was rounded in an almost phallic fashion, and it appeared to be made of bronze and burnished gold. Ornamental lines and curlicues ran from its base to its tip.

"Well, that's different," Makepeace commented.

"Doesn't seem to fit in with what's here," said Lieutenant Johnson.

"How can you tell?" Andrews asked sourly. "There's nothing in here to compare it with but the Stargate and us."

Henderson asked, "Think it's Goa'uld?"

"Dunno." Johnson prodded it gently with his toe. "Nothing," he said. "Maybe it's just art?"

"It's an alien dildo!" Andrews announced, to the raucous laughter of his teammates.

"I do not want to meet up with any babe who'd use that thing," Henderson said. "She'd probably be at least fifteen feet tall."

"How do you know it belongs to a woman?" Andrews chortled and made a rather evocative obscene gesture.

"Let's check it out before you go and get too friendly with it," Makepeace ordered with an amused smile. It was a balancing act, he often thought, what to examine and what to avoid. Anything small and interesting enough to take back to Earth for study was fair game by necessity. The SGC's primary mission was to collect alien technology for Earth's defense, after all. That meant they couldn't just be satisfied with gawking like tourists—risks had to be taken.

That didn't mean they had to accept foolish risks, however. All SG teams carried various detectors that would warn them of the more obvious dangers, such as radiation and electrical activity. The hand-held devices allowed the them to do spot analyses on anything they found. Not that the precautions would guarantee safety—to its regret and detriment, the SGC had found that just because something appeared dead didn't mean it couldn't come to unwelcome, unpleasant life later—but it was better than just hauling alien toys home blindly.

Andrews laughed, "Yeah, you're lucky it didn't disintegrate you or turn you into a toad or something, Lieutenant."

"Can't be radioactive or electrical or anything," Johnson argued. "The MALP's detectors would have picked up on that kind of thing."

"Hey, maybe it's some kind of control device—maybe it's what turned on the lights in here," speculated Henderson.

"It's possible," Makepeace said. "But who knows what else it does?"

As though in response to Makepeace's words, a deep, grinding noise, like stone on stone, reverberated in the chamber. The four men spun, scanning the room, seeking the source of the new sound. "There!" called Johnson, pointing.

A sliver of light, reaching from the floor to just below the ring of light globes, appeared in one wall. As SG-3 watched, it widened slowly, letting in a blinding, blue-white glare. Makepeace shielded his eyes with one hand while his other fished a pair of sunglasses out of a pocket. As he adjusted the shades on his nose, sighing with relief at being able to see again, the grinding noise ceased.

An arching doorway, almost a hundred feet tall and forty feet wide, now stood open directly across from the Stargate. Brilliant light, even harsher than that provided by the overhead light globes, flooded the chamber. Even wearing military-issue sunglasses, Makepeace had an uncontrollable urge to squint. Through the violent glare he made out a cloudless blue sky and rocky, blue-gray earth.

"Shit," he heard Johnson mutter. "Here's hoping the air out there don't poison us."

Johnson had a point. The MALP had only sampled and analyzed the atmosphere within this chamber, which might well have been airtight. With that door standing wide open to the great outdoors, he and his team were now exposed to untested air that might hold dangers their bodies couldn't handle. Who knew what was out there? Radiation, toxins, contaminants, poisonous gasses, microbes—the list was endless, and now unavoidable.

"Too late now," he said with a fatalistic shrug. "We might as well have a look-see outside before we die. Henderson, use the MALP's equipment to run a detailed analysis, see if you can find out what we're breathing. Johnson, Andrews, let's go."

Johnson scowled but moved into the lead, grumbling about his blood pressure and keeping his weapon ready. He was armed with the team's M249 SAW, or Squad Automatic Weapon, a fully automatic light machine gun capable of shredding pretty much anything breathing into itty bitty pieces.

Makepeace and Henderson acted as the team's grenadiers, each carrying an M4 carbine with an M203 40-mm grenade launcher mounted beneath the barrel. Two grenadiers might be considered overkill for a four-man fire-team by some, but when it came to dealing with unknown and potentially hostile alien environments, Makepeace preferred to err on the side of caution and superior firepower.

Rounding out the group, Andrews was a qualified Scout/Sniper. He rarely went off-world without a deadly-accurate sniper rifle and scope slung across his backpack, in addition to the M4 carbine he carried in his hands.

Add to all that the usual assortment of M9 9mm side arms, knives, explosives, and the "unofficial personal protection devices" that none of them could do without, and SG-3 tended to be the best armed recon team in the SGC. On this world, protected within the round stone building, chances were good they could hold their own long enough to dial the Stargate home and make their escape if necessary.

Depending, Makepeace thought pessimistically, on what was waiting outside for them. The way that door had opened up was awfully convenient. It might have been due to some automatic device, like the lights, but there was no guarantee of anything so benign. In spite of their armament, they could still be overwhelmed by a sufficiently powerful and armored force, and aliens might have sneakier and uglier tricks up their sleeves than fancy bombs and ray guns.

"Looks clear," Johnson said from just inside the doorway. He cautiously went outside. Makepeace and Andrews followed close behind him, covering his rear and flanks. The walls were at least eight feet thick, Makepeace noted with surprise as he passed through the exit. This place had been built to last. The Marines stopped a few feet inside the exit to take their bearings.

The sky was a clear, brilliant sapphire hue, so pure it was painful to look upon. High overhead a single sun shone brightly, its light somewhat whiter than Earth's sun. The landscape was barren—flat stretches of blue-gray dirt and rocks. Boulders, striated with gray, blue, and black, had been wind-sculpted into bizarre shapes that would be at home in a modern art museum. At irregular intervals the land was shot with streaks of gold and sapphire blue. Flecks of something shiny, like mica or quartz, sparkled in the rocks and soil. There were no plants, animals, or insects to be found. Other than the whispering of a mild breeze through the rocks, all was silent.

"Nice," Makepeace said, his lips twisting in his displeasure at his surroundings. He shaded his eyes with one hand and gazed off into the distance, where he could see a haze that might be mountains, or might simply be clouds or dust. He was glad he wore sunglasses. The glare around here could blind a man.

"Big," added Johnson, pushing his own sunglasses higher on his nose. "Big and empty."

"And dry." Why, Makepeace wondered, did SG-3 get stuck with so many desert planets? While this desert was pretty, with a sky bigger and bluer than Montana's, and flamboyant rocks and dirt to spice up the scenery, he was still annoyed. He'd anticipated a quick survey of an exitless alien building, and through Lady Luck's usual perversity had drawn an arid world. Makepeace had a serious antipathy toward deserts, born of service during the Gulf War, when he'd run advance recon teams deep into Iraq and Kuwait. He'd never look fondly at a desert again.

At least this desert wasn't broiling hot. In fact, it was downright temperate, which was surprising considering the barren landscape. It was dry, lifeless, and yet the temperature felt relatively comfortable. Makepeace shrugged, reminding himself that deserts didn't have to be hot, just dry. They came in all kinds of packages back on Earth. This was just a weird variation on the basic model.

"Smells kind of like cinnamon," Johnson said, sniffing appreciatively. Makepeace didn't reply, although he, too, had noticed the pleasant scent. He hoped it wasn't poisonous. Other smells could be dangerously deceptive: for example, small amounts of hydrogen cyanide gas were reputed to smell somewhat like bitter almonds. What large amounts of that particular stuff smelled like, he didn't want to know.

Henderson emerged from the building and joined Makepeace. "Air's good, Colonel," he reported. "Pretty close to Earth norm, according to the MALP. A shade more oxygen than we're used to, but nothing dangerous. Nothing's in large enough quantities to be toxic. Background radiation's within acceptable levels."

"Good," said Makepeace. It was always nice to know you weren't in immediate danger of expiring from breathing cinnamon-scented air. "All right, let's spread out and see what we've got here. Don't anyone stray too far."

The Marines nodded and began their sweep. A few moments later Andrews, who had moved off to the left side of the domed building, called out, "Aw, shit, what the fuck is that? Colonel, you need to see this!"

That was quick. Curious, Makepeace walked around to the sergeant's side, aware of Johnson and Henderson trailing after him. "Well, that's something you don't see every day," he drawled.

Roughly a hundred feet away stretched what Makepeace thought might be a pair of weird roads. Bright yellow in color, they lay parallel to one another, like a freeway, separated by a wide strip of bare dirt. He looked left and right. The roads ran into the long distance, seemingly endless. He and his team approached the nearest one cautiously for a better look. The road appeared to be about twenty-five feet in width. Its strangely colored surface looked slick, as though it were wet.

"Looks like a road, you think, guys?" said Andrews.

"Whatever it is, it's definitely not natural," Johnson said, bending down to take a closer look. "Bizarre."

"Careful, Lieutenant," said Makepeace. "This thing might not be as benign as that dildo was."

Johnson snatched back the hand he had extended. He straightened and grimaced, scratching the back of his head self-consciously. "Thanks, sir."

"Just don't want to break in a new second."

"You think it's dangerous?" Henderson asked. He had a digital video-camera running, recording everything in the vicinity.

"Dunno." Makepeace bent down, scooped up a handful of bright blue pebbles, and tossed them onto the nearest road. They skittered and danced like drops of water on a hot griddle. "Looks almost frictionless," he commented. "Doesn't seem to be hurting them. Still probably better to leave it alone, though, at least for now. It's not like we can pick it up and take it back with us, anyway."

The little blue stones continued to jitter and slide around on the canary surface. "Sir," Henderson said, "the rocks are doing something."

As the Marines watched, the jiggling pebbles lined up and formed a loose geometric pattern, a series of parallel lines. In spite of the rocks' constant, vibrating motions, the lines maintained their shape and spacing. Henderson chewed his lower lip. "Looks like some kind of standing wave pattern."

"I see you're showin' off that superior high school education again," Andrews laughed.

"College physics, actually."

"Yeah, sure. Tell us another one, junior."

Makepeace grinned. Henderson actually had a B.S. in biology plus a year and a half of medical school under his belt, and Andrews knew it. For reasons he had never disclosed, Henderson had quit med school and enlisted in the Marine Corps, refusing an officer's commission, choosing instead to stick to field work. Normally, a corporal would hold a leadership position among the enlisted troops, but on SG-3 he was low man on the totem pole. He didn't seem to mind, although lately he'd been considering returning to medical school. He was a good man, and it would be hard to lose him when he finally advanced his career.

For that matter, Andrews and Johnson also held college degrees. Every soldier who went out on an SG team had to be decently educated, as well as highly trained in military arts. You never knew what odd talent might come in handy. All personnel needed to be intelligent and flexible—able to adapt to many challenging and downright weird situations, run tests, and identify useful alien technology—as well as disciplined and able to fight. The stereotypical "dumb grunt" had no place in the Stargate program. His men might not be multi-Ph.D. super-geniuses, but they weren't dunces, either.

Andrews broke off his teasing and stared to the left, frowning. "Now would you look at that."

"What is it?" Makepeace asked.

"There's another of those oversized dildos over there," the sergeant said, pointing with his chin. Between the two roads stood a cylinder identical to the one they had seen inside the Stargate building. Bright sunlight reflected off its polished metal surface.

"Wonder what they're for?" asked Henderson, training his videocam on the object. "That one can't be there to control lights and doors."

"The other one might not have done that, either," Johnson said. "We were just guessing."

"Quiet," Andrews said sharply, holding up a hand. "Listen."

Makepeace tilted his head, straining his ears for whatever sound had alerted Andrews. He heard a soft rushing, as though something were moving at great speed. The noise gradually got louder, as a distant, dark blot became visible on the nearest road. As he watched, the object seemed to grow larger.

Makepeace squinted. Yes, it was definitely getting bigger.

"Everybody, back from the road," he ordered. "Looks like something big's coming through."

His warning was unnecessary. The Marines were already moving away, putting a respectable distance between themselves and the road. They were also, he noted wryly, readying their weapons, preparing for a potential firefight. Unfortunately, unless they wanted to retreat to the domed Stargate building, there wasn't any cover nearby.

The rushing sound became a roar, like a mighty windstorm. The object raced forward, growing larger by the second, a speeding blur of darkness that appeared vaguely cylindrical. Then, suddenly, it slowed down. The roaring faded to a gentle hum as the strange machine came to a stop, right in front of the startled Marines.

At close range the thing reminded Makepeace of some kind of train car. It was glossy black, about fifty feet long, and as wide as the road. Both rounded ends were sloped and tapered in an aerodynamic fashion. The car's bottom surface was flat, and the whole thing floated about a foot above the road, humming quietly.

With a whoosh, an oblong door in its side slid open and a smooth, wide ramp rolled out to the ground.

The train's interior was cloaked in shadows. The four Marines raised their weapons, but nothing emerged to threaten them. Cautiously, they sidled closer, inspecting this new addition to their environment.

"Think it's some kind of train?" Johnson whispered, peering warily at the opening.

"No one seems to be inside. Might be on automatic," Henderson said.

It didn't seem to pose any threat. None, though, were willing to venture onto that ramp. The doorway continued to stand open, as though inviting them to enter. A few minutes later the ramp retracted and the door slid closed. The humming intensified, then the car started moving. In no time it had accelerated to its former speed and vanished from sight, heading toward the distant haze.

"Well, that was special," Andrews remarked, lowering his rifle.

Makepeace glanced from the road to the building, an idea forming in his mind. "Do you think maybe this used to be some kind of transit station?" he asked.

"Like a bus stop or subway terminal, with the Stargate as an arrival and departure point?" Andrews nodded thoughtfully. "That would account for that train being on automatic like that."

"Well, doesn't look like anyone's using it any more," Johnson commented.

"No," Makepeace agreed. "But this planet has sure as hell gotten a lot more interesting than it was an hour ago. There's functioning technology, and it looks fairly advanced. It would be a real shame not to take a better look."

Johnson slanted a speculative glance at his CO. "You're talking about an extended desert recon. We'll need the SGC to send us extra supplies, lotsa water and food and stuff. Think Hammond'll authorize it?"

"Oh, yeah."

 


	2. Chapter 2

As Makepeace had predicted, Hammond said yes.

The general had been delighted with the preliminary report Makepeace had made through the MALP's audio-visual system. In fact, Hammond had suggested a longer mission himself before the colonel could even broach the idea. The politicos must have been leaning on him for concrete results again, Makepeace had thought cynically. The discovery of what looked to be an uninhabited world with functioning tech free for the taking probably had all the Washington goons and pencil-pushers drowning in puddles of their own drool.

Supplies sufficient to last SG-3 two weeks in deep desert had arrived within the hour.

The Marines kitted themselves out in desert survival gear, exchanging their heavy, hot kevlar helmets and flak jackets for floppy-brimmed boonies and lightweight tactical vests. With a FRED—a field remote expeditionary device, which was little more than a fancy name for a motorized pack mule—loaded down with ammo, food, water, survival equipment, fuel, diagnostic equipment, and assorted other supplies, SG-3 set out, following after the train along the strange yellow roads in a direction Johnson had designated simply as "thataways." Compasses didn't work on 3Y5-116; their indicators fluctuated wildly and refused to orient in any one direction. Even when tapped, shaken, beaten on, and thrown against the wall of the Stargate building, the compasses remained recalcitrant. Makepeace wondered if the effect was localized to this specific area, say if there were massive iron deposits nearby, or if the planet's magnetic field was just plain weird.

As long as his team stuck to the road and placed trail markers at regular intervals, Makepeace didn't think there was much chance of SG-3 losing their way. Unless, of course, they ran into trouble and had to abandon their carefully marked trail. To compensate for that unpleasant scenario, he had Andrews set up an electronic homing beacon on the MALP that they could use to return to the Stargate.

He hoped that this world really was as uninhabited as it seemed, that the MALP would remain undisturbed. Any intelligent menace that attacked SG-3 out in the desert wasn't likely to ignore an alien device left sitting near the Stargate, but the chances of such encounters seemed pretty low. SG-3 had been on the planet for over four hours now, plenty long enough for an alarm to be set off, and thus far no locals had bothered to investigate their presence. Either there wasn't any kind of warning system set up in the Stargate building, there was no one around to answer it, or simply no one cared one way or the other.

Based on the utter lack of life seen thus far, Makepeace suspected that the second option—no one around—was indeed the situation on this planet.

Makepeace had never seen a world so...dead. He could think of no other word to describe it. There were no plants, no animals, no insects—nothing. The only movement was the mild breeze that stirred loose pockets of dirt. Makepeace wondered if there were even any microbes around, and gripped his rifle a little tighter. The place even _felt_ dead. It was unnatural, creepy, like walking through a ghost town, or a graveyard at midnight, even though the sun was shining overhead.

It was odd that the desert was so disturbing. It wasn't dark, or shadowy, or forbidding. Quite the contrary. The sky was clear and blue, the day so bright that Makepeace was glad of his sunglasses. The landscape continued in bright shades of blue, turquoise, and silvery gray. The dirt beneath the Marines' feet sparkled in the sunlight from flecks of mica and crystals. The air was clean, smog-free, easy to breathe; the temperature a little on the warm side but not overly uncomfortable.

And yet, he couldn't shake an indefinable sense of oppression, of utter desolation.

He could tell that the rest of his team was also a little unnerved, although no one stated anything outright. While they had made some initial and unflattering commentary about the barrenness of the desert, as they walked further into no man's land their conversations became brief and hushed. Lacking its usual jovial boisterousness, the group trudged on, following the pair of yellow roads, yet encountering nothing else that might encourage them to continue. Still, the roads and the train held a promise that couldn't be abandoned simply because Makepeace and his team were creeped out by a few hours in a quiet desert. Imagine putting that on a report! Makepeace winced as he visualized Hammond's reaction. No, SG-3 had to at least make an honest effort.

The gravity was a little stronger here than on Earth, Makepeace decided. Not enough to notice at first, imperceptible in fact, but the longer he walked, the more he realized he was tiring a little faster than he should. Perhaps it was only the additional physical weariness that made them all edgy and uncomfortable. Perhaps the not-quite-right gravity, the barely noticeable extra weight of their bodies and gear, simply had them all off-balance. Perhaps confused instincts, not bred for this world, were kicking in inappropriately.

Perhaps.

He looked out at the weird yellow roads, at the barren, flat landscape, and again felt disjointed and unnerved.

To distract himself from his irrational but growing uneasiness, Makepeace pulled out his binoculars and looked ahead. The haze on the horizon resolved into blurry mountains, probably hundreds of miles away. At least there was a goal, however unattainable.

Another train flashed by without stopping, this one on the opposite road, heading back toward the Stargate. It moved at a terrifying speed Makepeace couldn't begin to estimate. The wind the thing generated in its wake—and the flurries of glittering dust it kicked up—forced the Marines to take refuge under some hastily unpacked tarps. They stayed under cover for a good five minutes after its passage, in spite of the fact that they had kept a more than respectable distance from the road. When the air was once more fit to breathe, they set out again.

An hour later, SG-3 came upon two enormous, jumbled piles of oddly curved stones, one on either side of the yellow roads. A number of the stones were large, perhaps ten to twenty feet wide, and coated with a layer of fine, blue dust. Taller than the men by a goodly number of yards, the untidy heaps sat upon flattened areas of earth too smooth and level to have been formed naturally. To Makepeace's eye, they looked like the crushed remains of two monstrous eggs.

The Marines walked up to the pile on their side of the road. Makepeace brushed his hand against the nearest curved surface, wiping some of the grime away. Brilliant emerald glimmered beneath his fingers. Curious, he cleaned off more of the surface while his men looked on. More vivid green showed through.

"Purdy," drawled Andrews. "But what the hell is it?"

"Don't know," Makepeace said. "So quit gawking like a bunch of dumb-ass zoomies at a titty bar and gimme a hand with this. Let's see what the whole thing looks like."

The Marines bent to their task. Soon, the "stone" was revealed to be entirely composed of a translucent, glassy material of purest green that contrasted sharply with the canary yellow road and the blue and gray of the soil. It was hard and smooth, and despite the deep fractures that formed spider web patterns throughout its interior, it glistened in the bright daylight like an immense jewel.

It wasn't all beauty, though. One jagged edge was charred and splintered. Makepeace eyed it. "I wonder if lightning did that," he commented, "or some kind of weapon."

Johnson examined it closely, rubbing a hand over the damage. "I dunno," he said slowly, a considering look on his face. "There's something about it that doesn't seem natural to me. I know it's an alien material and all, but if I had to guess, I'd say it was a weapon of some kind. Not recent, though." He looked up. "Whatever happened, it looks like it happened a real long time ago, sir."

Makepeace nodded. The heap looked like it might have once been a dome, similar to the one that housed this world's Stargate, although composed of different materials. Covered in a thick layer of dust, it showed no signs of having been disturbed since it had fallen in. Clearly, no one had been here in many, many years. It ought to be safe to explore. Perhaps something of interest remained. "Fair enough. We'll spend the night here, poke around and see if there's anything worth finding. Let's set up camp."

Well accustomed to bivouacking in all manner of terrain, SG-3 chose a flat space well away from the road and had tents pitched, personal gear stowed, and coffee heating in fifteen minutes flat. Amused at his team's priorities, Makepeace glanced at the metal pot on the camp stove and repressed a grin. The weird hours required of SGC personnel made coffee addiction almost inevitable, and hard-ass leathernecks were no more immune to America's most prevalent drug than spacey scientists and blue-suited zoomies. Henderson bent down to tend the sacred coffee pot, throwing Makepeace a defensive look in the process. Wiping the smile from his face, Makepeace merely held out his cup and raised his brows in silent query. Henderson looked suspicious, but filled his CO's mug.

Makepeace blew on the liquid to cool it a little, then took a sip. The fragrant steam was a soothing counterpoint to the spice-scent of the alien air. The coffee, his men's banter, the sounds of a small but active encampment—all served to lighten the oddly oppressive atmosphere of the desert.

The Marines had a quick meal, then returned their attention to the collapsed dome and started excavating in earnest. At first, this simply meant parking the FRED nearby and taking readings for radioactivity and the like. After getting the all-clear, they worked like a team of draft horses to roll, shove, or heave the bigger chunks out of the way. A few smaller shards were revealed in the process, some of which were collected, bagged, and stowed on the FRED.

The sun was starting to drop closer to the horizon, although it was taking its own sweet time to do it. Makepeace still didn't know how long a day lasted on this planet—SG-3 had only been here ten hours and the day had been well underway when they'd arrived. The MALP had been restricted to that windowless building, so there had been no help there. He could make an educated guess, however, based on the speed the sun traveled across the sky. There ought to be a few hours of daylight left to explore the ruins.

It wasn't until sunset that they finally found something interesting. They pushed aside an emerald boulder and exposed a small, protected hole within the crushed remains. Henderson shone a flashlight inside.

"It's deeper than it looks. Bigger, too," he said, going down on his hands and knees, and aiming the light further into the opening. "I think I see something." He dropped to his belly and swiftly wormed himself in through the debris, until only his legs remained outside.

"Henderson!" Makepeace shouted. "What do you think you're doing? Those rocks could collapse in on you."

"No, sir, it looks okay," Henderson's muffled voice came from inside the small cave. He wiggled his feet and worked himself in a little more. "Seems pretty stable, and—oh, wow, what's that?"

"Henderson?"

"There's something— Here, let me try—" Henderson's legs kicked as he maneuvered his body around, obviously stretching to reach something. "Oh, man, there's another one. Come on, come on—"

"Another what? Henderson—"

Henderson scooted himself out before Makepeace could finish. He was covered with powdery dirt and grime. In his hands he held a dusty sphere that was the size of a small beach ball. Makepeace was so surprised by the alien artifact that he forgot to ream Henderson out for his foolhardiness. He hadn't really expected to find anything intact under the ruins.

"What's that?" Johnson asked, crouching down to have a better look.

"Dunno, sir." Henderson placed the ball into Johnson's hands and headed right back into the hole. A moment later he was out again, sitting cross-legged and holding another ball. This one, though, was damaged, partially crushed. Henderson said, "I think there was a third one of these in there, but it was buried under too much rock." He ran his hand along the crumpled surface. Pale gold gleamed through the dust.

"That metal?" Andrews asked.

Johnson wiped off the sphere he held, revealing the same metallic gold color, and a smooth, featureless surface. "Can't tell. Ain't natural, that's for sure. Feels real light. And weird."

"Weird?" Makepeace asked, eyeing the sphere suspiciously.

"Yeah. Kinda like satin, but oily too. It's weird." He rubbed his dry fingers together and frowned. "No oil residue comin' off, though. Just feels like it's there."

Everyone had to touch both the spheres, just to compare. It seemed safe enough. Their surfaces, Makepeace found, felt exactly as described. Smooth, yet slightly oily. He looked at his hand, expecting to see the shine of grease, but his skin was only dusty.

Johnson went back to the FRED and returned with several instruments, including the Geiger counter used earlier and an ammeter/voltmeter. He handed the equipment around, and the Marines then proceeded to poke and prod at both spheres. "Nothing," the lieutenant finally said, looking up from his probe. "They both seem to be completely inert."

"Looks like it," Makepeace agreed.

Andrews peered at the two orbs. "I wonder what they were for? Just art?"

"The undamaged one might only be drained of power," Makepeace said. "Or it could be broken, like the other one, just in a way we can't see. They've probably been sitting here for a long time."

Andrews suddenly flashed a huge grin. "Hey, at least it's a matching pair. Now we got two balls to go with one of those dildos back at the Stargate."

Makepeace snorted. He said, over his men's laughter, "Well, at least these things aren't vibrating." That elicited more laughter. He waited it out, watching the sunset. It was pretty, all reds and golds and purples, but the sky was darkening quickly. "We're losing the light. Let's get the spheres packed up and call it a day. We can get started again in the morning."

His men grunted their agreement to that plan and moved to police the area. Makepeace lifted the undamaged sphere to load it on the FRED. He was surprised at how light it was. It couldn't have weighed more than a few pounds, in spite of its size and metallic appearance. Was it hollow inside? he wondered. Or was its light weight a property of the alien material it was composed of? It would be interesting to see what the brainiacs back home came up with, once they got to take the things apart.

He turned to his men. "Henderson," he called. When the Marine looked over at him, he said, "Don't do anything that dumb again. We could have dug the spheres out tomorrow, without the risk of you getting buried."

Henderson looked surprised, like the idea had never even occurred to him. "I didn't mean to worry you, sir. I'm an old caver. I've been climbing and spelunking in some pretty tight spots since I was a kid. I know whether a pile of rocks is gonna fall on me or not."

"Just don't do it again, got it?" Makepeace ordered. "I don't want to add to the SGC's casualty count through sheer stupidity." Caver or not, it had still been a stupid stunt. While by definition there was nothing safe about Stargate travel, there was no real need to push their luck on this mission. They had plenty of time to excavate here.

Henderson looked like he might protest further, but Makepeace didn't want to hear it. Nor did he want to come down any harder on the man, so instead he turned to head back to camp.

Behind him, he heard Andrews jeer softly, "Hey, Tommy, you're a baaad boy. You made the boss nervous."

"Just the boss?" Henderson laughed. Andrews said something unintelligible, then Henderson added, "Awww, man, I didn't know you cared."

"Go to hell, junior."

"You first."

Makepeace rolled his eyes at the childish exchange, but otherwise ignored them. He actually approved of their irreverence and independence, within reason. Special ops demanded disciplined people who could think on their feet and make their own decisions quickly, rather than wait around for some higher-up to give them orders. However, stupid was stupid. Henderson really should have known better.

Johnson fell into step next to him. "Things got a little giddy back there," the lieutenant smirked. "For what it's worth, Henderson does know what he's doing when it comes to rocks. He's got enough of them in his head."

Makepeace grinned. "Amen to that. I think he deserves a little reward for his efforts, though. Don't you?"

"What'cha got in mind, sir?"

"I think he gets to cook. And do all the clean up. For every meal for the next few days."

Johnson got a pained expression on his face. "What did I ever do to you, sir? You know what Henderson's cooking is like."

"I'll be eating it, too, you know."

"Doesn't make it right. How 'bout giving him a few extra watches, instead?"

Makepeace shook his head. "Haven't you noticed? The gravity here's a little stronger than back home. We all got a high out of digging in that old ruin, but once that wears off everyone's gonna be exhausted. I don't want anyone operating on half a charge while we're here."

Johnson chewed his lower lip. "Yeah, now that you mention it, I had noticed. Thought it was just me, though." He sighed theatrically. "Well, I guess I can stomach bad food for a few days."

"If it gets to the point where we're all starving to death, I'll find something else for him to do, I promise," Makepeace said lightly. "I wouldn't want a mutiny, after all."

"Thank you, sir!"

Makepeace laughed aloud at that. He wasn't looking forward to the next few meals, either, but some token of discipline was called for. Perhaps Henderson would only have to cook tonight and tomorrow.

He mulled that over and reconsidered again, remembering all too vividly other repasts the man had served up. As a cook, Henderson was a terrific shot and an excellent field medic. Makepeace didn't want his team any surlier than normal, if it could be at all avoided. Okay, so maybe Henderson would only have to cook tonight, and then take turns like everyone else. He could pull cleanup duty for the rest of the week, instead.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Makepeace took third watch that night. Nursing a cup of coffee, he stared up at the empty void of the sky. There was no moon; even worse, he couldn't make out any stars. Any that might be out there were too dim for human eyes to recognize. It was also eerily quiet, without even a single insect chirp to break the silence.

Before the last vestiges of gray twilight had deepened to Stygian black, Makepeace had never truly realized just how much he took the stars for granted. It was pitch black without them, like an overcast night in the middle of winter. If not for the single lantern on the ground next to him, he might have been completely blind.

The lantern was a necessary compromise. The planetary dusk had been brief, and when it ended the Marines found themselves plunged into profound darkness. They were almost certain they were alone, but there remained a trace of doubt. What if this planet's inhabitants were nocturnal? The light from the lantern would certainly give SG-3 away, but when night fell it became obvious that some illumination was necessary. Without moons, planets, or stars to lighten it, the darkness was impenetrable, and evoked a primal fear almost impossible to stifle.

The last planet SG-3 had visited had been the exact opposite. That world's night had been crowded with stars, so gloriously bright that they had cast a multitude of faint shadows. It had been spectacular.

Makepeace sipped his coffee. They had been warned. The SGC had tracked the MALP's passage through the wormhole and determined that this planet was located out on the galaxy's Outer Arm, near the void between the spiral arms. In addition to the low star density, this region of space was thick with ancient dust lanes and absorption nebulae. SG-3 had been briefed that any starlight that got through all that and the planet's atmosphere would be too faint to see with naked eyes. At the time, it hadn't mattered. No one had thought SG-3 would get out of the Stargate building, anyway.

Surprise, surprise. Now, Makepeace looked up and remembered that briefing with resignation. No amount of advance knowledge could have prepared them for the shocking reality of the barren sky.

He heard a scuffing noise behind him, and turned his head sharply at the sound. His fingers tightened on his rifle and thumbed off the safety. A small disk of light flickered over the ground, coming closer. It joined the lantern's lonely glow, a familiar figure came into view, and Makepeace exhaled as he put the safety back on. Instead of some weird alien monster, only Sergeant Andrews had come visiting.

"Damn, it's dark," the sergeant said as he plunked down next to Makepeace. He turned off his flashlight. "Quiet, too."

"What are you doing out here?" Makepeace snapped, irritated by the start Andrews had given him. "It's not your watch for another hour yet."

"A little jumpy there, Colonel?"

"Just startled," Makepeace corrected.

"Don't blame you, sir. I can't see a damn thing out here. Crap." Andrews reached over to the camp stove and poured himself some coffee. "I am not looking forward to sitting out here by my lonesome."

"So you decided to come out and inflict it on yourself early? Sure, that makes loads of sense."

"Actually, yeah. Henderson came in all spooked after you relieved him, you know. Thought I'd acclimate myself a bit before I had to go it alone. Thought maybe you could use some company, too."

"Yeah, I could." Makepeace blew steam off his mug. "Johnson also got twitchy on his watch. Now I can see why."

"It was bad enough when all four of us were out here. This is downright creepy."

"Gee, thanks."

"Sorry, sir," Andrews said. "Didn't mean it that way."

"Yeah, I know. It's just been getting to me. I'm feeling a bit persnickety."

Andrews made an amused noise, but kept whatever rejoinder he'd thought of to himself. Just as well. Makepeace knew it had to be uncomplimentary.

The two men sat in companionable silence. After a while, Andrews murmured the oblique remark, "I just can't imagine it."

Makepeace figured the gunnery sergeant was simply muttering to himself, but asked anyway, "Can't imagine what?"

Andrews looked at him. "What the civilization that evolved here was like."

"We can't know, unless we find something more interesting than domes and spheres. Maybe what we bring back'll be interesting enough for the SGC to send some archeologists—"

"That's not what I mean, sir." Andrews gestured out at the infinite emptiness. "Look at that. Any species that evolved here, evolved under _that_."

"So? They'd be used to it. Wouldn't they?" Makepeace frowned, wondering what Andrews was getting at.

"Yeah, but they'd be so damn _different_. I mean, humans wonder if they're alone in the Universe—"

"Some do, at any rate. Not all," Makepeace interjected.

Andrews nodded. "But even before the Stargate, we could look up at the stars and wonder, you know? We couldn't really know for sure, except for maybe some religious extremists or something. These people here, they don't have stars. None of them would ever wonder, right?"

"I don't know." Makepeace stared into his cup.

"I mean, why bother pointing a telescope out there? And even if they did, what would they see, except their own sun?"

"What are you getting at?"

"I'm not sure." Andrews slurped his coffee. The noise seemed unbearably loud in the unnatural silence surrounding their camp. "Just thinking out loud. I was wondering what kind of civilization would develop on a world where people wouldn't even know that the rest of the Universe existed. Talk about Flat Earth Societies."

"Huh." Makepeace thought about that. "Well, they were pretty advanced to build that road system. They would have known that their planet orbits their sun."

"Their technological interests would be focused more locally, I think. I bet they never developed much in the way of space travel," Andrews said speculatively. "Beyond local satellites, I mean. They don't seem to have any near neighbors, so where would they go? No small stepping stones to work from. Why would they care?"

"They've got a Stargate," Makepeace pointed out. "They even built a way station around it. They knew they weren't all alone. They didn't need to develop their own space exploration program."

"I guess."

"You don't sound convinced."

"I dunno. I just have a bad feeling about this place."

"You and me both," Makepeace muttered.

"I just think these people would have evolved a radically different psychology. They might not even have been sane, at least by our standards. Who knows what kind of tech they would have developed?"

"Just because of the sky?"

"Why not?" said Andrews. "It affects us."

Makepeace thought about that. Theoretical psychology held little interest for him—he was far more oriented toward more pragmatic pursuits—but he knew that environment played a big role in human behavior patterns. Why not aliens, too? "I suppose they might have been naturally xenophobic, but beyond that..." He shrugged. "Not that it matters now," he said slowly. "Looks like they've been gone a long time."

Andrews grunted agreement at that statement.

"God, I hate third watch," Makepeace said. "And I hate that sky. Look at us, contemplating our navels and scaring ourselves just because this place is weird." He poured himself some more coffee. "Look, Mike, we'll be careful, just like always. We'll explore a bit, pick up some neat-looking stuff, and let the scientists back home have at it. The SGC can always send another team back. Assuming, of course, we find anything here they'll think is worth the trouble."

"You don't think they'll be interested in the things we've found?"

"Not if they turn out to be alien sex toys, like _someone_ here suggested."

"Shows what you know about scientists," Andrews retorted. "They only act like prudes in public."

Makepeace laughed softly. They continued to speculate, rather pointlessly, about how an empty night sky might affect a developing culture. With no concrete facts to draw upon, much of the conversation was downright silly. Eventually, they realized they were repeating themselves and their ideas petered out. Partway into the last watch, Makepeace bid Andrews good night and went to bed, feeling a little guilty about leaving the gunnery sergeant to the oppressive night, but too tired to spend the rest of the watch with him. At least Andrews would have the consolation of seeing the sun rise.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

When Makepeace crawled out of his tent the next morning, he was surprised to see the sky blanketed with dark, heavy clouds. He stood and stared up. No sunglasses would be needed today, that was for sure. "When did this happen?"

"The clouds? They rolled in before sunrise," Andrews replied. He was crouched beside the camp stove, already preparing breakfast. Tantalizing aromas of coffee, orange juice, scrambled eggs, and bacon filled Makepeace's appreciative nostrils and made his mouth water. The smells blended surprising well with the ever-present scent of cinnamon in 3Y5-116's air. Makepeace knew full well that the coffee was instant, the juice pre-packaged, the eggs reconstituted, and the bacon freeze-dried, but there was something about camping that made such things seem a gourmet feast.

Andrews continued, "I've never seen it cloud over so fast. Gotta love these alien planets."

Makepeace grunted, more interested in the food than the aberrations of the local weather. It was obvious that Andrews had gotten a jump on breakfast to avoid having to endure another of Henderson's cooking fiascoes. Not that Makepeace would have inflicted that horrible punishment on his poor team again. Last night's dinner had proven every bit as inedible as Johnson had predicted. There was a good chance, Makepeace reflected, that Thomas Henderson was the single worst cook in the galaxy. The man could manage drinkable instant coffee, but that was about all.

Mike Andrews's culinary skills were a different story altogether. The sergeant was easily the best cook on the team, and could work magic with even the most disgusting of MREs. Fortunately, SG-3 wasn't limited to that unappetizing fare on this outing, since they had the FRED to carry a few more interesting supplies for them. Makepeace got his mess kit out and dished himself up some breakfast.

"This is great, Mike," he complimented the sergeant, as he shoved a forkful of eggs into his mouth.

Andrews smiled. "Thanks, sir. Beats MREs."

"No shit."

"The camp food's a pretty terrific idea. How'd you con the general into letting us have it?"

"I told him it'd be good for morale, what with us being stuck out here in the desert all alone for over a week. It's not like we're trying to be covert or anything, and General Hammond's a pragmatist."

"Who's a pragmatist?" Johnson asked as he emerged from the tent he shared with Makepeace. "Oh, and what is that wonderful smell?"

"Hammond," said Makepeace. "And breakfast, in that order." He watched with amusement as Henderson also appeared and followed his nose straight to the camp stove. That Marine might not be able to cook, but he could eat like no one else.

Breakfast passed pleasantly. Henderson grumbled a little about being stuck with the cleanup, minimal though it was, but Makepeace wasn't going to let him off the hook. He wanted Henderson to be properly cautious for the rest of the mission, if not for his own safety, then at least to avoid more tedious punishments.

Half an hour later they collected some gear and their weapons, and headed back to the ruins. The crushed dome seemed oddly forlorn in the gloomy weather. It looked lopsided, with a fair amount of the debris removed and piled off to one side, and a gaping hole at its base. Under the oppressive cloud cover, the emerald material appeared lifeless, darkened to a deep, forest green. The FRED sat nearby, waiting patiently for its owners to put it back into service.

The Marines had just started heaving a particularly large chunk of glassy masonry away when they heard the familiar sound of rushing air. It turned to thunder even as they listened.

"Ah, hell, here comes another of those train-things," said Johnson, peering down the road at the distant dust cloud that had been kicked up. "Shit. Better break out the tarps again."

"Already on it," Henderson called, jogging toward the FRED.

This time, though, the protection of the tarps wasn't necessary. Well before reaching the domes, the night-black train began to slow down, and the roar of violently displaced air diminished. The Marines moved back away from the road anyway, and waited for the transport's arrival.

Makepeace commented, "Looks like it's gonna stop here."

"Guess now we know what the domes are for," Johnson said. "With one on either side of the two roads, I'll bet it's like a bus stop or a train station."

"There's no other access from here to anywhere else, though. No roads or anything."

Henderson said, "Probably destroyed and eroded away. Maybe this stuff survived because it was made of tougher materials. That might make sense, if it was a major thoroughfare."

The train slowed even more as it continued forward. At such a slow speed, it was almost noiseless, its approach characterized only by a quiet hum. It pulled up next to the wrecked dome and stopped, levitating above the road, just like the train had before the Stargate building. Following an identical sequence of events, the door in its side opened up and a ramp rolled out.

"Automation at its finest," Makepeace said. He was sure Johnson was right about its function; the thing did act like some kind of public transportation system. He wondered what route it followed, and for an instant was tempted to get on just to see where it went. He'd done that before, a long time ago on London's famous Tube. One morning he'd ridden the Circle Line all the way around, just for the hell of it, like a kid on a joyride. A pity it wasn't a good idea to try that here.

The Marines waited for the train to leave. Unlike its earlier counterpart, however, this one seemed in no hurry to move on. It floated serenely, apparently content to stay forever.

"Well, that's weird," said Johnson, suspiciously. "Why is this one just sitting here?"

"I don't know, but I don't like it." Makepeace readied his rifle. "Let's check it out."

They approached the train cautiously. With Johnson and Henderson covering the open door, Andrews and Makepeace moved to opposite sides of the ramp and peered through the entryway, trying to see as far into the train as they could. Nothing jumped out at them; no automatic weaponry activated. The train remained quiescent.

"Maybe it's just broken," suggested Andrews. "Maybe it just took one trip too many, and died here."   His expression indicated that he didn't really believe his own words, though.

Johnson shook his head. "That's awfully convenient, don't you think?"

"It was just an idea."

Without warning, a flash of lightning split the sky, striking somewhere on the horizon. Out of habit, Makepeace started counting. Ten seconds later thunder rumbled across the land. A gust of wind accompanied it, sending loose dirt and grit swirling into the air. An instant later more lightning flared, more thunder rumbled. It sounded closer.

Makepeace swore at the turn of events. Out in the open on a stretch of flatland, they would be begging to become lightning rods once the storm got into full swing. "Just what we need. Everyone, back to camp. Maybe we can wait out the storm." He didn't even consider using the alien transport for shelter.

"What about the train?" Johnson asked.

"It'll have to keep. Let's move!"

Suddenly, the heavens opened up. A flood of hailstones rained down from the sky upon the hapless Marines. Most of the ice balls were small and harmless, about the size of corn kernels, but a few were large enough to be dangerous. The wind grew stronger, almost to gale force. Wind and hail lashed the men, tearing at their clothes, clawing at them with merciless talons. In the distance, Makepeace saw their tents uprooted and tumbled end over end.

"The FRED!" Andrews screamed over the howling air. "We can hunker down by the FRED!"

More lightning struck, less than a mile away, and the crack of its thunder was ear-splitting. Makepeace smelled ozone. Then, as abruptly as it had started, the storm stopped. Everything became very, very still.

"What the hell?" gasped Johnson. "Is it over? Already?"

"That was fuckin' quick for a thunderstorm," Henderson said, looking paranoid. "It can't be over. That ain't natural."

Makepeace brushed hailstones from his clothing and hair. The sky had turned a sickly, greenish-black color. That rang a warning bell, but he couldn't place it at the moment. He opened his mouth to ask about it, but stopped short and just stared.

Three golden spheres, identical to the undamaged one they had dug out of the ruins, floated over their demolished campsite.

Johnson frowned at him, then he turned his head and followed his CO's eyes. His jaw dropped open. "Oh, crap."

As the four men watched, the orbs flew toward them, moving through the air in an eerily smooth and synchronized manner. They spread out as though to surround SG-3 on three sides and trap them against the yellow road. Or, Makepeace realized with a shock, as though to herd them into the waiting train.

The others must have come to the same conclusion. Almost as one, the Marines reached for their weapons. Before anyone could fire, the spheres stopped coming forward and hung motionless in midair. A strange, electronic chorus broke the silence, rising and falling with overlapping harmonics like some weird, synthesized form of music. The sounds weren't localized, seeming instead to emanate from all directions at once.

"I think they're trying to communicate," Johnson said in a hushed voice.

Makepeace threw him a incredulous look. "No kidding." He stepped forward and made a point of lowering his weapon. "Hello," he said to the center sphere, remembering the lectures Doctor Jackson had given all the SG teams on first contact procedures. Those methods were primarily intended for contact with human-based cultures, but they were all he had. "We don't mean any harm. We're peaceful explorers, from a planet called Earth. We came through your Stargate, back that way." He gestured down the road.

More harmonics rose and fell, this time sharper, more strident.

Makepeace had a bad feeling about where this might lead. "Look, I don't know if you understand me, but we didn't mean to trespass. We thought this planet was deserted. We'll just leave now, all right? We'll go home and leave you alone."

The electronic chorus became discordant, the overlapping waves of sound pounding his eardrums brutally. Over his shoulder, Makepeace told his men, "We'll take this slow and easy, guys. Just leave everything and start walking." He fingered the GDO strapped to his wrist, knowing that each of his men also followed procedure to the letter and had one on. It would be a long trek back to the Stargate with no supplies, but that was preferable to being prisoners, or dead.

Carefully, SG-3 started edging away and moving along the road back the way they had come. The globes followed them, maintaining an even distance. "I don't think they want us to go," Andrews muttered.

"Shut up and keep walking," Makepeace told him.

A deafening burst of electronic cacophony slammed into them, with bass undertones that reverberated painfully in Makepeace's chest. One of the golden spheres zipped ahead of them, cutting off SG-3's avenue of escape. The Marines stopped walking. A couple miles off toward the Stargate, the clouds started moving in a rotating pattern, converging in on one area of the sky. From the distance, there came a sound like the roaring of a jet. A dry wind began to blow.

"Oh, my God," Andrews groaned. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Fuck, yeah." Makepeace finally recognized what was happening with the weather. Colorado Springs endured its share of tornado warnings, and that was exactly what was forming before him: a tornado. Whether it was a natural phenomenon or something the force controlling the spheres had shaped didn't matter. All that mattered now was survival.

A dark little nub budded from the center of the rotating clouds. Dust and debris swirled on the ground beneath it, while it grew in size and length. The newly formed funnel cloud touched down. The roaring got louder, and the wind became stronger. The tornado didn't appear to move left or right, but seemed to get larger with each passing second. With horror, Makepeace realized that it must be heading straight in their direction.

"Out of its path," he shouted. "That way!"

The four men ran at a right angle from the road, but the spheres moved again to cut them off. Disharmonious noise screamed in their ears like the howling of demons, even louder than the tornado's horrifying thunder.

"Do those things want to kill us?" yelled Andrews as he tried and failed to dodge around one of the flying globes. The spheres zoomed around the Marines, again trying to herd them toward the train.

Enough was more than enough. Makepeace raised his rifle and let loose a burst of gunfire at the nearest sphere. The bullets bounced off harmlessly, not even denting the glistening surface. He tried again on a different sphere, and got the same results.

"Christ!" Johnson shouted. "What now?" The wind whipped his words away.

Makepeace remembered that the biggest danger of being caught out in the open during a tornado was being hit by flying debris. "Down!" he bellowed. "Lie flat, face down on the ground!" The idea was to get as low as possible to avoid being in the line of fire. It was a poor solution, but the best they could do now. With a little luck, the funnel cloud wouldn't run right over the top of them.

The team hit the dirt and shielded their heads and necks with their arms. Makepeace heard Andrews mutter something about kissing their asses goodbye, and snorted grimly.

There came a renewed burst of electronic shrieks. Makepeace looked up and saw the spheres circling overhead like vultures. Then a force like a Mack truck slammed into him and everything went dark.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Makepeace groaned as he returned to consciousness. With great care, so as not to exacerbate the pounding in his skull, he lifted a hand to a temple and rubbed gingerly. Everything ached, muscles and joints and bones, and his innards were doing a cha-cha. The rock hard surface beneath his spine vibrated ever so slightly, giving him the impression that the floor was moving. The sensation was similar to that in a car or an airplane. It sure as hell wasn't doing his nausea any good, even though he'd never been prone to motion sickness.

Then his brain caught up with his roiling stomach. Moving?

His recent memory returned in a flood. The storm, the tornado that had blocked their escape, the golden spheres, and that discordant, electronic howling—then a brutal, crushing sensation, like he'd been hit by a bus. So much for the idea that this world was dead. All those things must have been under some kind of intelligent control.

He mastered his need to vomit and forced open his eyes. At first, nothing looked particularly wrong. Cloudless, blue sky overhead. Perfectly normal, except for the fact that earlier it had been stormy as hell. The sky wasn't as painfully bright as it had been the previous day. It also had a slight grayish tinge and cast brilliant shimmers, as though the light was reflected off a curved surface. He blinked a few times, trying to clear his vision, but the view didn't change.

A low moan came from off to the side. The voice sounded like Johnson's, which meant he wasn't alone. Were his other men here also? He dragged his protesting body into a sitting position and looked around. He was sitting on a flat, glossy black surface. Johnson was on his left. To his right lay Andrews and Henderson. They were all breathing, which was a relief, and all showed signs of impending consciousness.

Beyond his men the planet's bleak landscape flashed by at tremendous speed, tinted with the same grayish cast that muted the sky, and showing the same odd reflections. Makepeace realized he and his men must be in the train they'd seen earlier. The curving walls must be like one-way windows—almost impenetrably black on the outside, but affording those within an unobstructed view of the passing scenery. What use said view was at this speed, though, was a matter of question. Perhaps the aliens had quicker eyes than mere humans. They didn't seem to need furniture, though. Other than SG-3, the cabin was completely empty.

Their weapons and gear were nowhere to be seen. No surprise there. Makepeace fingered his wrist. Even his watch was gone, so there was no way of knowing how long he'd been unconscious. He considered the ramifications of their present situation. They were apparently prisoners, being transported to God only knew where. He cursed under his breath and crawled over to Johnson.

"Johnson. Hey, buddy, wake up." He lightly slapped the lieutenant's face, and was rewarded with an unhappy sounding groan. "That's it. Wakey, wakey."

"Colonel?" Johnson suddenly snapped awake and sat up a little too abruptly. He clutched his head and hunched over, and moaned again. "Oh, crap. Christ on a fuckin' crutch."

"I know exactly how you feel." Makepeace gave him a consoling pat on the shoulder and moved off to check on Henderson and Andrews. They woke with as much enthusiasm as Johnson.

Andrews chose to express his misery in terms colorful even by USMC standards. Makepeace sat back on his heels and listened with interest, storing up the imaginative epithets for future reference. Even he hadn't heard some of those before. The man was certainly creative.

"Jesus, Mike, will you shut up?" Henderson snapped as he pulled himself to his knees. "My head can't take it."

Andrews looked startled, but cut short his spiel. He asked, "Where the hell are we, anyway?"

"Looks like we're on one of those trains," Makepeace told him.

Henderson glanced at the rapidly passing desert, and averted his eyes. "That view's gonna make me sick. Sicker," he amended, placing a hand on his middle.

"Don't look at it, then," Makepeace advised. "We don't need anyone puking in here." He surveyed his teammates. "All right, now that everyone's awake, here's the scoop. We're unarmed, we're probably prisoners, we're on our way to parts unknown, and I have no idea how long we've been going there."

He watched as his men digested that unpalatable lump. They looked around the empty chamber and patted themselves down fruitlessly.

Andrews grimaced and said, "This is just great. Any good news, sir?"

"We're still alive."

Henderson said, "Well, I suppose that counts for something."

"Man, I ache all over," Andrews complained, stretching his arms over his head, but staying seated. "What did those things do to us?"

"It felt kinda like sound," said Johnson. He got to his feet and staggered over to his teammates.

"What?"

"I'll bet it was directed ultrasonics or something similar. The brainiacs think that some species of dolphins and whales can use it to stun fish to make 'em easier to catch and eat. You feel pretty crappy for a while afterwards."

"How do you know about that stuff?" Henderson asked. "And why do you think that's what happened to us?"

"A dolphin once put the whammy on me," Johnson explained, "except not as bad. I was only a little out of it. This feels similar, though."

"When did you ever swim with dolphins?" asked Henderson.

"A long time ago. Navy research project. Classified. You know how it is."

"No shit, sir?" Andrews said with bright interest. "Teachin' Flipper to spy and carry bombs, huh?"

"Nah," Henderson said, smirking. "The animal rights people went bananas over that idea, remember? He was teaching Flipper nice, PC search and rescue techniques."

Johnson stuck his nose in the air. "I was just a warm body to help out the trainers. Aside from that, I can neither confirm nor deny anything I may or may not have done with Flipper."

Andrews leered at him. "We always knew you were a perv, Lieutenant. Flipper's a surprise, though. Figured he would have better taste."

Makepeace looked sidelong at them. "I really didn't need that mental image."

Johnson snorted. "Dolphins are promiscuous as hell. I could tell you stories—"

"Scare us later," Makepeace said, cutting off further dolphin commentary. "Let's focus on the horror show at hand. Such as the spheres' function."

Andrews grumbled, "Zapping Marines."

"And possibly communications. It sure sounded like they were trying to talk to us."

"Maybe weather control, too," Johnson said. "Did'ja see the way that tornado behaved? No way was that natural."

"No," Makepeace agreed. "It was herding us, like those damned spheres."

"And when we didn't cooperate, whammo!" Henderson smacked a fist into his palm.

Johnson exhaled, his shoulders slumped. "Guess the planet's not as dead as we thought. Lucky us."

Henderson said, "Maybe it is, and all this stuff is on automatic."

"So what now, Colonel?" Andrews asked.

Makepeace had been pondering that very question, and coming up empty on answers. He shrugged, feeling helpless. "Enjoy the ride, I guess. Hope an opportunity appears when we get to wherever we're going."

His men looked disgruntled, but no one offered any better ideas. Makepeace got up, walked over to the nearest wall, and looked out at the swiftly passing countryside. It gave him an insecure sensation almost like vertigo—with the exception of the floor, the entire cabin was transparent. His hindbrain screamed at him to step back, away from the apparent precipice, but he forced himself to stand there and stare outwards.

Gingerly, he placed a hand against the surface. It was smooth, cool to the touch. He rapped on it with his knuckles; the sound was dull, muted. The stuff was probably damn near unbreakable. Not that breaking through the walls and jumping was an acceptable option anyway—they were traveling way too fast to survive such a hare-brained stunt. For now, they could only wait it out. The next move was up to their captor.

 


	6. Chapter 6

SG-3 passed the next half hour in a desultory fashion. At least Makepeace thought it was about half an hour. It was hard to tell. There wasn't anything to do except work out their aches, watch the passing scenery, shoot the shit, and fret.

Andrews and Henderson were bitching about the lack of accommodations. Makepeace wasn't any happier about sitting on the rock hard floor, but his temper was frayed by anger and worry, and he snapped, "Will you two shut up already?"

The two men stopped and just looked at him. Makepeace sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and muttered an apology. Then he got up and started to pace, feeling the eyes of his men on him. He regretted his outburst, but damn it, he hated being trapped.

After a few moments, the men began to talk among themselves again. Andrews was already renewing his complaints. The others chorused their agreement and added their own laments. The bitch session was back in full swing, Makepeace's irritable behavior apparently forgotten, or at least ignored.

Nice to know they took him so seriously.

Makepeace snorted softly. At least bitching kept them occupied, and until this ride ended there was nothing better to do. They'd already worked on their escape plans, in any number of permutations. How many times could they go through that exercise before it palled? Before the absence of any real data, other than the superior technology that opposed them, wore them down. Better that they keep their spirits up. He turned to rejoin them.

"Hey guys, check it out." Johnson stood and pointed to the forward end of the cabin. Dead ahead, spectacular mountains cut into the sky like jagged fangs. No snow or vegetation hid the vibrant hues of sapphire and turquoise that striated the craggy gray stone. Makepeace wondered just how fast the train was traveling, and how far. Back at the ruins, those mountains had been just a blur on the horizon.

But even more startling was the city that nestled among the lower foothills. It was beautiful; a collection of smooth, polished domes and soaring, prismatic spires, all composed of that same glassy green material that made up the ruins SG-3 had excavated. However, no dust or decay marred this city's splendor. The train drew closer, and more details became clear. Arches and sky bridges connected towers at many levels, while faceted crenelations and cabochon surfaces caught the light and flashed with prismatic glory.

Flawless, the city glowed in the sun like a perfect, grass-green emerald.

"That where we're going?" Henderson asked in a hushed voice.

Johnson answered, equally quiet, "Looks like it. The road heads straight in, and we're slowing down."

The Marines all gathered at the front of the cabin, watching as the city grew larger and larger. At closer range, Makepeace could make out more details in the architecture—tall, narrow windows of clear crystal, set high in the many towers; balconies and stepped tiers of terraces; bejeweled protuberances whose function he couldn't even begin to guess at.

The train slowed to a crawl and rolled into a tunnel that lead beneath the glittering city. The interior darkened as the sunlight was left behind. The car finally came to a stop before a wide platform. A dozen golden spheres waited there, hanging motionless in the air.

The door slid open with a soft sigh, the ramp extended to the platform.

"End of the road," Johnson murmured.

Six of the spheres floated forward and lined both sides of the ramp like some kind of alien honor guard. The rest formed a semicircle and waited on the platform. It was obvious to Makepeace that there would be no chance for SG-3 to escape here. Even if they found an opening and tried to make a break for it, the spheres would probably just stun them again. Better to stay conscious and wait for an opportunity elsewhere. He could tell from the resigned sighs of his men that there was no need to explain his reasoning.

"Here we go," he said, and led the way down.

When SG-3 reached the platform the spheres closed around them, encircling them. As a unit, the glittering orbs moved toward a tall, arching doorway, forcing the prisoners along with them.

The Marines were escorted through a bewildering array of corridors of creamy green jade. Makepeace took careful note of every turn, trying to memorize the way back. When he glanced at his teammates, he saw from their alert, focused expressions that they were doing the same.

After about ten minutes of walking, they were herded into a small, windowless room. Three of the spheres entered with them and floated up near the high ceiling, well out of reach. Three sections slid out from slots in the walls and ceiling of the doorway. The panels met in the middle, sealing the startled men inside. A moment later, Makepeace felt slightly weighed down, as though they were rapidly moving upwards. A hexagonal panel beside the door flashed a series of strange symbols. If this was an elevator, it was the smoothest one he'd ever ridden.

The sense of heaviness vanished abruptly, throwing him off balance for a moment. The door slid open again, to reveal a long jade hallway lined with diamond-paned windows that stretched from floor to ceiling. Nine gold spheres hovered before the doorway. Whether they were the same ones as before, or a whole new set, Makepeace couldn't tell. The men were prodded out by the three globes that had guarded them, and they were once again surrounded and ushered forward. As they walked, Makepeace glanced out the nearest window. It displayed a panoramic view of sky and desert, as could only be seen from high above the ground.

"We're crossing one of those sky bridges," Johnson observed, quietly. He cast a quick glance at their strange guardians, as though he expected them to object to his speaking, but they only continued their inexorable movement along the hall. Apparently, they didn't care if the men talked among themselves.

However, no one felt inclined to discuss anything of relevance while surrounded by flying orbs that might be recording every word, and under the circumstances idle chatter was right out.

The Marines were led through a veritable maze of corridors, some with airy decorations and windows looking out at the countryside, others dark and claustrophobic, and still others that seemed carved from solid emerald. Here and there they passed intricate structures of amethyst and peridot and topaz, but whether those marvels were strange machines or merely decorative sculptures they couldn't decide.

There were more rides in elevators, and not always up. Some of them moved horizontally, others vertically, and two of the them felt as though they were moving down. Then even more corridors. Makepeace finally gave up on trying to remember the route back, forced to admit that he was hopelessly lost.

Finally they came to an immense, arching door of a highly polished gold material. It was over thirty feet high and appeared utterly impenetrable. Three fine lines trisected it, meeting at a point in its center.

At their approach, the door's three sections silently receded into the wall. From within came a slow, deep pulsing that was felt as well as heard. The men hesitated, but the twelve spheres encircling them moved forward relentlessly and gave them no choice in the matter. The door sealed shut behind them.

Makepeace caught his breath. Straight ahead, dominating the circular room, a scintillating column of blinding, blue-white light seared his eyes. A monster of pure energy barely tamed by an alien technology, it was somehow contained to a single, massive cylinder. It reached the height of the room, passing through rounded apertures in the floor and ceiling. There was no way to tell how far it extended through the city, perhaps even through the planet. Guard rails encircled it, no doubt for the protection of mere mortals. The throbbing was louder here, the bass sound reverberating in the air, vibrating within his chest and rattling his bones. This was power on a scale he'd never even imagined before, raw and blazing. Primal instincts screamed at him to get away, to run like hell, but the spheres continued forward with machine precision.

He tore his eyes from that terrible pillar of energy and looked around, seeking an escape route but finding none.

The room was also impressive. It was enormous, with a smooth, black onyx floor and translucent walls of milky crystal that stretched up to a dome at least ten stories high. Makepeace saw a number of large, cabochon gems embedded in the ceiling, and wondered if they served some function or were merely for decoration.

The lighting was bright, with a circle of light globes orbiting far overhead. Here and there pastel-colored glows lit the glimmering walls from within, shading them with pinks and blues and greens. The ambient temperature was comfortable enough to be unnoticeable, and yet the room gave the impression of ice, as though it had been carved from a glacier. The tripartite door they had passed through was the only exit.

The spheres drove the Marines forward, until they stood dwarfed before that awesome light column. Makepeace felt goose bumps break out all over his body at the close proximity. Whether that was due to static electricity in the air or was simply an emotional reaction on his part, he couldn't say for certain. Maybe both.

A long sequence of harmonic notes, overlapping but not quite synchronized, suddenly filled the chamber. The eerie, electronic noise started out quiet, crescendoed to almost unbearable levels, then tapered off again. The cycle repeated, although the tones varied. Something here seemed to be trying to communicate.

Without much hope, Makepeace took a step forward. Talking to the spheres back at the ruins hadn't worked out too well. He didn't think negotiating with a column of light would go any better, but they had to at least try. "Hello," he said when the synthesized music lulled. "We're explorers from the planet Earth. We came in peace." And we'd like to leave in one piece, he added mentally.

More electronic warbling was the response. He tried again, "I'm sorry, we don't understand you. Can you understand us at all?"

The cascading waves of sound crashed all around him. Makepeace winced, resisting the urge to cover his ears. When the last echoes faded, he heard his men shift nervously behind him. What would it take to get through to this thing?

The column of light flickered and scintillated, continuing to howl its strident cacophony.

"Hey!" Frustrated, Makepeace instinctively raised his voice and enunciated each word. "Listen, we don't understand! In case you hadn't noticed, we're not speaking the same language, so—"

A shaft of brilliant white light shot from a ceiling gem and struck his head. Makepeace cried out in pain and reeled, clutching at his temples. It felt like an ice pick had been driven straight into his brain. He screwed his eyes shut against a torture he couldn't fight.

He heard shouts but the words couldn't penetrate the pain. The tearing agony blotted out all his senses. The ice pick became a great claw that shredded and sliced and ripped without compassion or mercy. Pressure built up until his skull felt as though it would explode. The excruciating pain increased, tenfold, a hundredfold—

Then it was gone.

Makepeace gasped in relief. After so much pain, so much pressure, his head felt curiously light. He was hardly aware of his body at all. He opened his eyes, and discovered that he was on his hands and knees. He'd never even known he'd fallen.

He pushed himself into a sitting position. He felt hands on him, helping him, and heard voices in his ear. It was all meaningless, unimportant. There was a warm wetness dribbling onto his mouth. It annoyed him. He rubbed at the moisture, and his hand came away red. Vaguely, he wondered why his nose was bleeding. He looked down. Crimson droplets speckled the floor, vivid against the polished onyx. Unthinking, he wiped his nose again, mesmerized by the patterns of red and black.

The voices became more insistent, demanding his attention. He supposed it might be important, and forced himself to look up. Johnson was kneeling before him, making calm, soothing noises. He gently placed his hands on Makepeace's shoulders, looked him straight the face, and spoke in a querying tone.

The words made no sense, and Makepeace laughed. Johnson looked dismayed. Makepeace wondered what Johnson had expected to accomplish with all that gibberish.

His head felt strange, like it was stuffed full of cotton. He wasn't feeling bad, exactly, just a little detached. He watched as Henderson knelt down next to Johnson. Wearing a grim expression, Andrews moved between him and the light column. His men all seemed upset, even frightened.

Makepeace felt Johnson lightly squeeze his shoulders, then the lieutenant dropped his hands and shifted aside. Henderson moved forward and peered into his eyes, then held up two fingers. He asked what sounded like a question, but the words were a nonsensical jumble.

Now that Makepeace's head was clearing, he started feeling real fear. Something was wrong with him. He couldn't understand what his men were saying. He stared at Henderson's fingers, knowing what was expected of him. Henderson wanted to determine if he could see straight, and understand what he was seeing. His vision, though, wasn't his problem—it was his hearing. Makepeace opened his mouth to respond. He meant to say "Two" but instead some ugly, garbled sounds spilled out.

What the hell was that? Makepeace tried again. But instead of saying, "You're holding up two fingers," he heard himself spout more unintelligible garbage. He wasn't a terribly religious man, but now he found himself praying that he just couldn't hear right, that his teammates could understand him, at least in part.

His men exchanged horrified glances. Makepeace felt ice run down his spine. He wasn't merely hearing gibberish, he was speaking it as well. What had that thing done to him? Panicking, he reached out, clutched at Johnson's wrist, and tried to speak again.

Nonsense tumbled from his lips. Makepeace wanted to scream. His fingers tightened on Johnson's arm, loosened again when he saw the lieutenant wince. He tried to apologize, but only spewed more babble. He barely kept himself from panting as his fear grew, sharpened by a dawning horror. What if his condition was permanent?

Henderson started talking fast to Johnson. Makepeace got his breathing under control. He rubbed dried blood from his upper lip and tried to focus on the corporal's rapid spate of words. No matter how hard he listened, it all sounded like meaningless noise.

What if his nonverbal skills were affected as well? Could he even read or write anymore? He hugged himself as his sense of panic increased again, becoming almost too strong to contain.

Now Johnson was saying something to Henderson. Makepeace held his breath, listening. Most of it remained incomprehensible babble, but he caught the words "brain damage" and "permanent?" The inflection had made the stream of words into a question.

He'd understood some of that. His spirits lifted a little. Maybe this weird thing was temporary, or at least not total. Knowing that Johnson was afraid he might have permanent brain damage disquieted him, though. He inhaled and tried to speak again. "Johnson."

Yes! It had taken a lot of concentration, but he'd gotten Johnson's name out correctly.

His men stopped talking and stared at him, sudden hope lighting their eyes. Johnson said, "Sir?" Then another sequence of nonsense, ending with "...you understand me at all?"

Makepeace nodded. Focusing hard, he managed to say, "Some." Another success. He made a circling motion with his hand, hoping they would understand that Makepeace wanted them to keep talking.

They did. They kept up a constant stream of chatter, watching Makepeace for signs of comprehension, pausing to listen to his labored replies. The longer they talked, the more sense they made to Makepeace. The more he talked, the more sense he made, as well. The mood lightened. After a few minutes, Makepeace could converse with only the occasional misstep. A couple minutes more, and he thought himself back to normal.

"I'm fine," he insisted as Henderson and Johnson helped him to stand up. In truth, he felt so giddy with relief that he could communicate again that he was almost euphoric. "Really. Now, tell me, what the hell happened to me?"

Henderson spoke in a rush. "We're not sure. A beam of light hit you in the head. You screamed and collapsed, then you couldn't talk right or understand us. It affected your brain's language centers—they must have been traumatized somehow, fortunately not permanently. I think it was some kind of shock to them, but why—"

"Processing and assimilation is complete," a synthesized voice rich with bass undertones and musical harmonics boomed out. "Series 05A, 21B9, and 4B2C communication nodes stable and functioning."

The Marines all started at the interruption. In the midst of their own little drama, they had almost forgotten they were in the presence of a unfathomable and terrifying captor. Its resounding voice was a harsh reminder of the trouble they were in. Even more surprising to hear spoken English, instead of odd musical tones and weird electronic oscillations.

The mechanical voice spoke again. "Is neurological recovery complete?" It was a strange sound, filled with both male and female pitches, overlapping and not quite synchronized, rising and falling like an autumn wind.

"No thanks to you." This time it was Johnson who stepped forward. He pointed at Makepeace. "Why did you hurt him?"

"No physical harm was intended. The probe was not configured correctly for your lifeforms. Power levels were too high. Adjustments and equipment calibration are in process. Is neurological recovery complete?"

"The probe? No wonder it can speak English now," Henderson said excitedly. "Sir, it must have taken our language straight from your brain. That's why you were so messed up—your brain had to recover from being scanned."

"Wonderful," Makepeace groaned. "I can't begin to tell you how much better that makes me feel."

The query came again, "Is neurological recovery complete?"

"Yes, we think it is!" Johnson shouted. "Now who the hell are you?"

The resulting cacophony rattled Makepeace's teeth. He thought he heard some familiar sounds, but echoes, arpeggios, and vibrato obscured any consonants and vowels.

Johnson looked nervous, but stood his ground. "We can't understand that. Is that your name? Can you simplify it?"

The air stilled, then the synthesized voice proclaimed ponderously, "I am Varayimshaeta."

"Um, yeah. Okay." Eyeing the dangerous crystals overhead, Johnson said, "That's still kind of a mouthful. How about we call you Vara? Is that all right?"

The light column pulsed. It hadn't agreed, but it hadn't objected, either. Johnson cleared his throat. "Okay, I'm going to assume you don't have a problem with Vara."

Andrews murmured, "That's a hell of an assumption, Lieutenant."

Before Johnson could respond, Varayimshaeta boomed out: "Why have you returned?" Its tone could only be described as angry.

SG-3 exchanged a bewildered look. Johnson said, "Returned? What are you talking about? We've never been here before."

There was no reply other than the low, pulsing vibrations of the light column. Then, "That is incorrect."

"What are you?" Andrews spoke up. "Why did you bring us here?"

"I am Varayimshaeta. You were brought here to answer," was the response.

"Answer what?"

Sounding impatient, the voice thundered, "Why have you returned?"

"It's a machine," Makepeace said with a flash of insight. "An AI. We're talking to an intelligent computer."

Henderson cautioned, "Sir, maybe we shouldn't be jumping to conclusions like that."

"It makes perfect sense. That business about communications nodes—it must have been teaching itself to use English."

Henderson regarded him with an unreadable expression. "That could have just been a dry run by some aliens, some kind of test pattern. You know, like 'testing one, two, three' and all that?"

"It's a computer," Makepeace said impatiently. "I know it."

"Great." Johnson heaved a deep breath. "So what do we do now? How do we reason with a machine?"

"Answer!" That time the synthesized voice was deafening.

With the memory of the last time he had tried to talk to this thing all too fresh in his mind, Makepeace took a shaky step forward. "We told you, we've never been here before," he said calmly, pleased that his voice hadn't quavered.

"That is untrue."

"It is true," Makepeace insisted. "As we tried to explain before, we're explorers. This is the first time any of our people have been here. We thought your world was deserted. Let us go back to the Stargate, and we'll leave and never come back."

"That is unacceptable."

"Wait," Henderson said before Makepeace could say anything further. "Sir, let's try something different." When Makepeace nodded, he addressed the light. "Why do you think we've been here before? Can you tell us that?"

Makepeace was startled. Such an obvious question, and he had missed it completely. Maybe his "neurological recovery" wasn't quite complete just yet.

The light column rippled with angry radiance. To one side, the air began to shimmer. A hexagon of hazy images formed, floating a few feet above the onyx floor. The display sharpened, and on it appeared a human woman with smooth mocha skin, long black hair, and dark, almond-shaped eyes. She wore a stylized garment reminiscent of a sari that was embroidered with gold and jewels. In spite of her stunning beauty, her face was remote and cold, as though no human emotion had ever touched her.

She stood before a set of golden controls. Behind her, other humans worked at their stations. She leaned forward as though to speak, and her eyes flashed with an unnatural light that the Marines knew only too well.

"She's a Goa'uld," Johnson hissed.

"She is Sitala," the computer told them. The picture froze, so that the woman's eyes remained lit. "Why have you returned?"

Makepeace wrestled down his shock and found his voice. "We're not the same. The people who came here before are called Goa'uld. They're our mortal enemies." He hesitated. A visit from the Goa'uld usually heralded disaster. He thought again of the utterly dead desert, the ruined domes. This computer might be all that was left of whatever civilization had once existed here. "Did the Goa'uld attack you? Is that why your planet is barren?"

"In the Sixth Epoch, Sitala came to this world in a great voidship," the electronic voice replied, "as the emissary of a ruler named Nirrti. Sitala claimed to be interested in trade, but instead she unleashed a viral plague."

"You have some pretty advanced technology. You must have had orbital defenses, or something. Why didn't you notice her ship before she got here, and stop her?"

"Varayimshaeta has no near neighbors. Nothing travels through the void. The portal you call the Stargate is isolated and controlled. There was no need for an orbital defense system."

Makepeace remembered the empty night sky. Why would a race that evolved on such a world ever develop spaceships? They had probably never even conceived the idea that anyone else would, either. Until the Goa'uld came, and they learned otherwise—the hard way.

"Vara..." he said hesitantly, unsure whether the machine had really accepted Johnson's version of its name. "I'm sorry your people were killed. It wasn't us, though. We had nothing to do with it."

There was only an accusing silence.

"Look, the Goa'uld are actually these ugly, worm-like parasites. They infest our bodies to control and enslave us. Believe me, we're nothing alike." Again, there was no response. "Why did you let us leave the Stargate building, come into your world, if you didn't want us here? If you'd never opened the door, we'd have just left on our own."

"To answer, to speak," came the unenlightening reply. Varayimshaeta's tone had changed, from demanding and overpowering to something that sounded almost wistful.

"To warn us to stay away?" It seemed a peculiar way to go about it, but Makepeace reminded himself that he was dealing with a nonhuman psychology here. "Well, we promise to go away and tell our people never to return."

"You are the same, yet you claim you are not the same."

Makepeace rubbed his temple. He was getting a headache from all this arguing. "Okay, fine, whatever you say. Just send us back—"

"You will remain."

"What?"

"The servitors will take you to a place of waiting."

Makepeace exchanged an alarmed look with his teammates. "That's not necessary. I promise, we'll leave and never come back. We—"

"You will remain. The servitors will take you to a place of waiting."

The gold spheres encircling the Marines started moving back toward the exit. Feeling more than a little sick, Makepeace could only shrug to his men. Unhappily, they let themselves be herded back into the maze of corridors.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Varayimshaeta's servitors escorted SG-3 through the complex and locked them inside a large suite of rooms that must have been intended as living quarters. The walls were tinted a vivid aqua shade. The floor was a deeper blue, and unlike the hallways it was plush and cushioned. Picture windows, made of a transparent substance that muted the harsh sunlight, framed a spectacular view of mountains and desert. The air smelled faintly of cinnamon, the scent just barely noticeable.

There was an abundance of furnishings in colors to match the suite. Their upholstery was soft and pleasant to the touch, but their unusual shapes indicated that they had not been fashioned with the human form in mind. They were longer, wider, and deeper than any chairs or sofas Makepeace had ever seen, with flat planes and curves in all the wrong places.

A quick inspection of SG-3's prison revealed no other exits beyond the door from which they had entered. They found no way to open the windows, either in the main chamber or in any of the side rooms, which was probably just as well, all things considered. The panoramic vista was so gorgeous because they were viewing it from at least a hundred stories above the ground. Forced to admit that escape was impossible, at least for the time being, the Marines returned to the large, central chamber.

With a weary sigh, Makepeace plopped down on what he thought was a couch and rested his head in his hands. His headache wore at him and sapped what little strength he had left. It was no fair, getting zapped twice in one day.

Johnson settled next to him. "You all right, sir?"

Makepeace lifted his head. His men were all watching him. They were probably afraid he'd start babbling nonsense again. He rubbed his temples, trying to soothe the throbbing. "Yeah. Just a headache."

"A headache?" Henderson asked.

"Nothing some aspirin won't cure. You wouldn't happen to have any, would you?"

Henderson shrugged in apology. "Sorry, sir."

"It's been a helluva day."

Andrews said, "Truer words, sir. At least those spheres—servitors—have left us alone for now."

"False privacy," Johnson snorted. "Ten to one we're being monitored."

"I don't take sucker bets, sir."

Makepeace chuckled. "You're a wise man." He leaned back on his elbows, but resisted the temptation to stretch out on the floor—the only flat surface available—and take a good, long nap.

Henderson said, "Well, here we are. Stuck." He exhaled. "At least it's not a dungeon or torture chamber or anything like that."

Johnson snorted. "Pollyanna. Look at it this way: We've been locked up by an unreasonable alien computer who thinks we're Goa'ulds."

"Worse, it thinks we work for fucking Sitala—the fucking goddess of fucking smallpox," Andrews moaned. "Man, we are in so much trouble."

"The goddess of smallpox?" Makepeace echoed incredulously. "There's such a thing? Which mythology does she come from?" He wasn't surprised by Andrews's knowledge. Everyone in the SGC who had any sense at all made themselves familiar with Egyptian mythology ASAP. Due to the Goa'uld, as well as all the other whack-job alien races who for some godforsaken reason liked to masquerade as Earth deities, a large assortment of pantheons had joined the required reading list. SG-3 had divvied up the chore, with each team member responsible for a minimum of three alternate mythologies. Their knowledge might not be particularly encyclopedic, but even basic awareness of various gods' names and traits could be useful.

Andrews replied, "She's a Hindu goddess, I think, or she's related at any rate. I recall something about her starting out as a Bengali deity, but I could be remembering wrong. Anyway, according to tradition, Sitala can both cause and cure smallpox."

"Can?" Makepeace asked.

"She's still worshipped in places on Earth, mostly in India, along with the rest of the Hindu pantheon."

"You telling us that this Goa'uld created smallpox?" Johnson demanded furiously.

"No, sir. She just gets credit for it." Andrews shrugged. "Then again, who can say? That Nirrti character was into germ warfare, remember?"

"Who could forget?" Makepeace muttered. The previous year Cheyenne Mountain had almost been destroyed by that memorable Goa'uld bastard. As part of a ruthless plan to destroy the SGC, Nirrti had wiped out a planet's human population with a plague, killed SG-7 in the process, and turned a little native girl into a living time bomb. Only through dumb luck had disaster been averted.

"Great, just great," Makepeace said, rubbing the back of his neck. Just thinking about Nirrti's tactics made his headache feel worse. "And Vara claimed this Sitala character worked for that monster." He propped his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his hands. Doctor Jackson's protocols for making friends and influencing aliens didn't begin to cover this disaster.

"We might have another problem," Henderson said quietly, moving to crouch before Makepeace.

"What else?"

"Colonel, why are you so sure that Vara is an intelligent computer?"

Makepeace glared at him. "What else could it be? Nothing's alive here. Vara babbled about communications nodes being operational. It's the only thing that makes sense."

"Actually, sir, it's not. It could be an alien concealing itself from us. Hell, for all we know, there could be a whole city chock full of aliens out there that we just haven't seen. Maybe they're hiding. Maybe they're invisible. Why not consider those options?"

Makepeace was silent, unable to give a rational answer.

Henderson pressed, "Sir, is it possible... Well, that maybe when Vara got English from you, that you got some knowledge of Vara's? That there might have been an information exchange between you?"

Makepeace had been deliberately avoiding that idea. At the time, there had been too much pain for him to notice that the probe had been rifling through his brain cells. Then when it became apparent that Varayimshaeta had miraculously learned English, he'd been forced to accept the truth, that his brain had been scanned, his mind violated.

Now he was being forced to examine the distasteful idea in detail. Truthfully, he hated it; it increased his sense of violation. Bad enough that that thing had rummaged around inside his head and taken some of his knowledge without so much as a by-your-leave; the mere idea that it had left something of itself behind repelled him. If he were honest with himself, he couldn't deny his statements that Varayimshaeta was some kind of artificially intelligent machine were based more on blind conviction than any facts he and his men had at hand. He had no proof of his belief, no real, objective reason for it, yet he was utterly convinced it was correct. He just knew, and now that sense of knowing disturbed him.

"It's either that, or you've been watching too much Star Trek, Colonel," Henderson said, in an obvious attempt to lighten the mood.

"I hate Star Trek."

Henderson smiled, but Johnson stirred uncomfortably. "Sir," the lieutenant began, "that thing was in your head... If it did something that's affected you..."

"I know. I've been compromised," Makepeace stated bluntly. "Who knows what it took from me besides English?" He rubbed his forehead. "Or what other little surprises it might have left hiding in the corners."

"Is it really that bad?" Andrews asked into the sudden gloom. "I mean, maybe all it wanted was English. It said all it wanted to do was talk to us. The colonel knowing it's a computer, well, maybe that's just a side effect, is all."

"Maybe," Johnson rumbled.

"No, that's a distinct possibility," Henderson said. "I don't think it got a complete, er, download, so to speak. Think about our conversation with Vara. Its English was stilted and clumsy. It didn't realize we're not Goa'uld. Hell, it didn't know the first thing about us. It couldn't have gotten much more than English from Colonel Makepeace, or it would have known all about our hostilities with the Goa'uld."

That sounded reasonable. Maybe there was light at the end of the tunnel after all. Makepeace asked hopefully, "And this weird feeling I've got about Vara being a machine?"

Henderson fidgeted. "It's not more than a strong impression, right, sir? You don't know anything more specific?" When Makepeace nodded, he went on, "Might just be something your subconscious picked up on during the contact."

"That's comforting."

"Sorry to be vague, sir, but this is way out of my league." He shrugged and looked thoughtful. "Vara did say that the power levels were too strong. I think maybe it had to stop the probe early, before it could be completed, to avoid damaging you any more than it did. Since it only seemed to get our language, it probably didn't get the chance to screw around with your mind. Probably there's nothing to worry about."

"Probably." Makepeace chewed his lower lip, resigning himself to the fact that he had become a potential liability. Well, so be it. Other people in the SGC had had their heads fucked over by aliens and alien machines. They had managed to survive the experience, get on with their lives, and continue doing their jobs. So now it was his turn. He'd just have to deal with it.

A tiny voice in the back of his mind protested: But it was never supposed to happen to me!

He smothered that plaintive, childish cry. Suck it up, Marine, he told himself. To his team he said, "Okay, fine, so life's a bitch. I'm stuck with it, I'll just have to live with it. We know about it, so it can't blind-side us. You guys are all going to have to keep an eye on me, though, just in case. If anything happens, or I start being...unreasonable... Johnson, you'll have to take over entirely. And Johnson, if things get bad, if I become a real danger..."

The lieutenant looked him hard in the eye. "Don't worry, sir," he said, acknowledging the unspoken request. "You go alien-crazy on us, Colonel, I'll take care of everything."

Makepeace nodded, closing his eyes with gratitude tainted by despair. Johnson had just promised to do whatever it took to prevent Makepeace from harming his team or his homeworld. Even if that meant killing him. The lieutenant would do it, too, if it became necessary—with no hesitation. Makepeace thanked God for Johnson's rare mix of pragmatism and loyalty.

"Of course," Andrews said, with forced brightness, "near as I can tell, all you officers are unreasonable an awful lot of the time. Half-crazy, in fact, and no common sense worth mentioning. Might be a pretty tough call."

"Oh, of course," Makepeace drawled, dryly.

"You'll forgive us, then, if we give you a little leeway before we decide to do anything too drastic. You get outta line, we'll try smacking you around a bit first, see if you come back to your senses that way."

Makepeace quirked an eyebrow at him. "How very thoughtful of you."

Johnson's grim expression lightened a bit. "Every grunt's dream," he commented with a smile. "Knocking a bird colonel on his ass. Gotta admit, the idea has a certain appeal."

Makepeace couldn't help chuckling. He well knew the frustration of dealing with unfathomable and out-of-touch higher-ups. "You people are way too enthusiastic. Just try to make sure it's alien-crazy, rather than ordinary officer-crazy, before you go beating me into submission."

"It's a deal, sir."

"Good." Makepeace exhaled, relaxing his muscles, and the angry pulse behind his eyes subsided ever so slightly. It wasn't really that simple, he knew, but the implicit vote of confidence in his sanity and self control was reassuring. He didn't want to die just yet, especially at the hands of his own troops—and he certainly didn't want them to take on that kind of guilt.

He licked his dry lips. He was thirsty. How long had it been since any of them had had anything to eat, or even a drink? Too long, obviously. No wonder his headache was so bad. "I could sure use a drink of water."

"Forget water, I want to know where the head is," said Andrews fervently, clearly willing to change gears to a less depressing subject. "Nothing in these rooms looks the part, and I doubt you guys want me off whizzin' in a corner somewhere."

"That's important, too," Makepeace agreed with a laugh. Now that Andrews had mentioned it... He tried to concentrate on something other than floods.

Johnson stood up. "Hey!" he called to the ceiling. "Hey, you listening out there? We need some water."

"What are you doing, Lieutenant?" Henderson asked.

"Just trying to get someone's attention." Johnson shouted again, "C'mon, I know you're listening. How about some service, here?"

A soft, white glow emanated from one side of the room. In the corner on the floor a crystal disk glimmered, and above it the hazy, indistinct image of a male human formed. It was life-sized, and had the correct basic outline: head and torso, arms and legs, but no facial features or other details were visible. "You require something?" it said, in the same chorus of male and female voices used earlier by the column of light. Its words were quiet, their volume suitable for an enclosed space.

"Holy crap," Andrews said. With caution, he approached the projection. "What are you?"

"I am to provide for your needs. What do you require?"

"What the hell kind of an answer is that?"

Johnson crossed the room to join Andrews. "It looks like a hologram, like on Star Trek." He glanced back at Makepeace. "I know that because, unlike some people, I'm a dedicated viewer," he said with a glint in his eye. "I always figured it was a job requirement for working at the SGC."

Makepeace grinned.

Johnson reached an arm out toward the projection. His hand passed harmlessly through, causing only the slightest of ripples in the transparent form. "Huh. That was weird."

"Please state your requirements," the hologram said.

Johnson said, "We require water." He added, "And some food, too."

"Water and food?" The glowing male morphed into an indistinct female shape. "What are your life requirements for water and food?"

"Huh?"

Henderson ambled over. "I think it wants to know what we can eat and what might poison us." He addressed the image. "There is food and water we can safely consume with our supplies. Did Vara bring them here with us?"

"All of your belongings are here," the female answered.

That caught Makepeace's interest. Their weapons should also be here, somewhere in this city. That had possibilities, if they could manage to cozen some information out of this bizarre new toy. He pushed himself to his feet and joined his teammates.

The female morphed back into male guise. "Your food and water shall be returned to you."

"Why are you doing that?" Makepeace asked.

"Explicate query."

"Why are you changing form like that, back and forth from male to female?"

"Human form is the preferred mode for communication with humans," was the less than enlightening response.

Johnson said, "You had to ask, sir."

"Yeah, well, I intend to ask a lot more." To the hologram, he said, "What is Vara?"

It replied serenely, "Vara is Varayimshaeta."

Andrews looked annoyed. "Literal minded, isn't it?"

Makepeace persisted, "Explain Vara. Tell us about it. How much of this planet does it control?"

The hologram froze.

Johnson regarded the now static image. "I think you broke it, sir."

An instant later the hologram reanimated. "I am to provide for your needs. What do you require?"

"Ah, hell. Guess that information's off-limits to us," Makepeace groused. He switched topics. "Vara learned English from me, right? That's how you know it as well."

"That is correct."

"What else did Vara learn from me?"

The hologram froze again briefly, then came back to life. "I am to provide for your needs. What do you require?"

"Been here before," Johnson muttered. "Guess that's off-limits, too."

Henderson said, "Or it just doesn't know. It might not have access to that kind of data, especially if it's just, well, the local equivalent of a butler or something."

"A butler?" Makepeace groaned, giving up. "Terrific. Somebody else talk to it."

Andrews pushed forward, looking a little desperate. "Let's ask it something really important. Like, where the john is."

The image again changed to female. "Explicate: the john."

Andrews suddenly looked uncomfortable. "You know, ah, facilities."

"Explicate. What type of facilities are required?"

The Marines all looked at Andrews. "It's your question," said Johnson with a smile.

Andrews stared daggers at them, then turned back to the hologram and explained what he wanted in terms so clinical and exact it was frightening.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Makepeace exited the "bathroom" feeling a little self-conscious. Never in a million years would he have guessed that that particular item of artistic exotica was a toilet. Nor would he have been able to use it without detailed instructions from the hologram. A potty break in this city was a humiliating experience bar none. The fact that the rest of SG-3 were in the same boat made it somewhat more tolerable, though. Since everyone was fair game for the derogatory jokes and put-downs, no one was cracking any.

Makepeace harbored not the slightest doubt that the aliens who had once inhabited this planet had been completely and utterly non-human in body type.

He returned to the common room and sat on a relatively flat spot on the malformed "couch." His headache nagged at him. He closed his eyes and rubbed first his temples, then the base of his skull, wishing the unceasing pounding would go away. The massage helped a little, but what he wouldn't do for just one aspirin.

"Maybe you should lie down for a while, sir. Get some rest."

Makepeace looked up to see Johnson standing before him. He dropped his hands and straightened. "I'm fine."

"You got zapped pretty bad, you know."

Few things put Makepeace into an ornery mood faster than a mother hen. He made a heroic effort and resisted the urge to bite Johnson's head off. "It's just a headache, that's all," he said reasonably. "Nothing ominous."

"Sir—"

"I said I'm fine."

Johnson said nothing, but continued to hover, looking reproachful. Makepeace rolled his eyes. "Why don't you go pump our 'butler' for information." With luck and determination, perhaps they could tease something useful out of the alien contraption. It also served as a decent way to get Johnson off his back for a while.

"I dunno, sir. That thing's got some serious gender issues. It's kind of creepy."

"Everything on this planet is creepy. Just do it, will you?"

Johnson slanted him a look that was nine-tenths amusement and one-tenth insubordination. Before the lieutenant could open his mouth and possibly wedge his foot in it, the door to their suite slid open. Gold orbs blocked the entrance, denying the captives any chance of escape. Three spheres floated into the room in a perfect, isosceles triangle formation. At the triangle's center two of SG-3's rucksacks and a number of canteens hung suspended in thin air.

Eerily silent, the spheres dropped lower, allowed the supplies to settle on the floor, then rose again. They glided back to join their counterparts at the exit, and the door closed behind them.

Andrews reached the pile first. "Pretty good service around here," he quipped, as he picked up a canteen. He unscrewed the lid and sniffed the contents, then took a swig.

"Hey, you shouldn't be drinking that," Henderson protested. "It could be drugged, or poisoned, or something."

"Jesus, we're already prisoners. Vara can do anything it wants to us, even probe our brains, anytime it wants. It doesn't have to be sneaky. Besides, this is all we've got." Andrews took another drink, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "Tastes okay to me." He held the container out to Makepeace. "Here ya go, sir."

Makepeace gingerly accepted the canteen, hearing the contents slosh, and took an experimental drink. The water was warm, with the usual aftertaste it acquired from being stored too long in a canteen, but with his dry mouth and pounding headache he thought it absolutely delicious.

Andrews dumped out one of the rucks and started pawing through the contents. "Mostly MREs," he said. "And some of that camp food you snuck into our supplies, Colonel. At least now we won't starve in here."

"I did not sneak that stuff in. General Hammond approved all of it," Makepeace said with mock indignation. He took another drink, and asked, "Any aspirin in there?"

"Sorry, sir. Don't see any. It doesn't look like our first aid kits made it into this batch."

Henderson and Johnson both got down on the floor to sort out the supplies. Makepeace knew he should help, but he only watched. The lack of aspirin disappointed him more than he wanted to admit. His headache was killing him, and he could no longer lie to himself about it—it was getting worse. A lot worse. Maybe Johnson was right, maybe he should try to catch a nap. He drank again, then sat down on one of those hateful, misshapen lumps they laughingly called furniture. He tried to screw the lid back on, but the canteen slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor. Water spilled at his feet.

Johnson lifted his head and turned at the clatter. "Sir? You all right?"

Makepeace didn't answer. He stared at his hands. Both were shaking.

"Sir?" That from Andrews. "What's wrong?"

Makepeace felt warm liquid run from his nostrils onto his lip. He wiped his face with a trembling arm. His sleeve came away smeared with watery red fluid.

"Oh, my God." Henderson was leaning over him. "Sir, you'd better lie down."

Makepeace tore his gaze away from the abnormal looking blood and stared at the corporal. Despite his shock, he felt an irrational flash of irritation. What the hell was he supposed to lie down on? This joke masquerading as a sofa? He opened his mouth to make a cutting remark to that effect, but before he could get a word out a shaft of pain lanced through his skull. He gasped and clutched at his head, squeezing his eyes shut tight, as the spear that pierced his brain burst apart like an exploding skyrocket.

"Sir!"

He heard Henderson's shout but couldn't respond. An anguished groan escaped his lips even as his body started trembling uncontrollably. Fingers clenched rigidly in his hair, he slipped from the couch and landed on his knees on the floor.

Then he was staring up at the ceiling, twitching, unable to do more than gasp for breath. Henderson and Andrews were hanging over him, talking frantically to him and each other. Johnson was bellowing at the walls, the ceiling, the door, yelling demands into thin air.

Makepeace tried to comprehend what was happening, but a whirlwind of razor blades shredded his thoughts. The roaring in his ears obliterated all sound as his universe contracted to the blinding agony inside his skull. The world shattered into jagged black and red streaks, then dissolved into gray nothingness.

When he drifted back to awareness, he was resting on his back and yet somehow moving, a smooth, subtle sensation, as though he were floating along on a light breeze. He felt light-headed and a little queasy, and a strange lassitude permeated his body. It was too much effort to move or even open his eyes, so he just lay still, letting the lethargy wash over him.

He couldn't remember ever being so tired. His brain wasn't functioning too well, but it occurred to him that his reactions weren't normal for him. Perhaps he should be concerned. If only it weren't so hard to think. His mouth was dry; he swallowed, and tasted blood.

He knew that, at least, wasn't normal. He forced his eyes open. For a moment everything was a pale green blur, then his vision focused. Above him was a creamy jade ceiling, broken into sections by dark lines. It rolled by rapidly, the motion increasing his nausea, but verifying that he hadn't been imagining his movement.

He lifted his head and saw gold spheres all around him. They must be carrying him, like they had somehow carried his team's supplies. The effort of holding his head up exhausted him, and he dropped it back again, closing his eyes. Vaguely, he wondered where the spheres were taking him.

The sense of motion ceased. He rallied what he could of his wandering mind and managed to convince his eyelids to open again. Harsh light stabbed his eyes, making him wince and squint. He rolled his head from left to right. He was in a room enclosed by glossy, night-black walls. Directly overhead, embedded in the ceiling, was an enormous, oval-shaped dome of clear crystal. All around him loomed gleaming chrome objects like weird, metal trees and abstract sculptures, all sprinkled with a myriad of tiny colored lights that twinkled like stars. The spheres were gone, and he wondered what was supporting him. Whatever it was, it felt warm and cushioned.

As a musical humming filled the air, an iridescent aurora danced over the crystal's cabochon surface. Makepeace watched, almost hypnotized by the coruscation of pastel colors. Soft chimes joined in, adding their own gentle melody. The aurora pulsed in time to the slow rhythm of a bass so deep it rumbled in Makepeace's chest.

Then whirring and buzzing noises broke his trance. Something clanked. He caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. Makepeace turned his head, and panicked. No longer static art, the trees and sculptures were moving, drawing in closer, surrounding him. Branches and metallic arms became malevolent claws, the glittering lights transformed into demonic eyes.

The nightmare escalated. A machine extended a blunt, glowing probe to his face, and he jerked his head away. Other machines moved in, wielding incomprehensible devices. Raw, animal fear flooded him as something cold brushed his skin.

Above, the crystal flashed in a vivid kaleidoscope of whirling, psychedelic patterns. A beam of pure, white light burst from its center and struck Makepeace full in the face. Something deep inside him gibbered in terror, remembering the last time such a light ray had touched him, but now there was no pain. Instead, his muscles relaxed, his mind lulled. His field of vision narrowed, until he saw only the hypnotic scintillation of colors. A cozy warmth suffused him.

His sight dimmed; the horror faded. Oblivion beckoned, and he fell willingly into its embrace, accepting the escape it offered.

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

Overhead, the night sky was a comforting blanket of opaque ebony.

A tiny pinprick of light appeared, despoiling the calm, perfect darkness. It grew larger: a single star that shone brightly in the heavens, a remorseless eye that looked down upon the face of the world.

Sitala looked up, locking her gaze on his. Her dark hair framed her beautiful, terrible face, cascading over her shoulders in a waterfall of black silk. Her eyes flashed cold fire.

The lone star seared the heavens, brilliant and hard as Sitala's eyes, relentless as the death that spread across land and sea alike.

Wave after wave of shimmering death swept out, rolling over the planet, sterilizing everything in its path.

Inexorable.

Final.

Alone.

Makepeace sat bolt upright in bed. Clenching his hands in the blankets, he tried to scream, but his throat was closed with a horror not his own.

"Colonel!"

Makepeace barely heard the cry. He was still trapped, caught up in the murder of an entire world. His eyes saw only darkness, his soul overwhelmed by an abyss of loss, of grief, of inhuman hatred and unbearable sorrow. He gripped his hair in his fists and squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to see, not to remember...

"Sir, stop—"

Hands wrapped around his wrists, forced his arms down. He fought against them.

"Colonel, please, wake up—"

He knew that voice—it was part of another life, a saner life, not the smothering horror of a relentless alien logic. Makepeace's eyes snapped open. Tom Henderson was leaning over him, still gripping his wrists. Makepeace broke the hold then clutched at Henderson's arms, his fingers digging through fabric into flesh, until Henderson winced and protested.

"It's dead," Makepeace gasped out. "Everything's dead."

"No, sir, no one's dead. We're all here, we're all alive."

"No, it—"

"Sir, please, calm down. It was a nightmare."

"A nightmare?"

"Yes, sir, a nightmare."

A nightmare. Makepeace stared at Henderson, taking in the familiar features, barely visible in the dim light. The room was almost completely dark, but from somewhere nearby a night light provided a tiny amount of illumination. The dreams faded as he grew more aware, their taint of horror receding with them. His racing heart slowed, his breathing calmed. He felt sweat cooling on the bare skin of his chest and arms.

Henderson gazed back, his face a shadowy mask of worry mixed with fear. Why fear? Makepeace blinked, realizing he still held Henderson's arms in a death grip. He loosened his fingers, joint by painful joint, releasing the corporal.

Henderson sat back, rubbing his bruises, watching him with clinical wariness. "Feeling better, sir?"

Makepeace nodded. He let out a shaky breath. He was in bed, in a darkened room, but he didn't know how he'd gotten there. "What happened to me?"

"You had a nightmare."

"Not that." The evasion exasperated Makepeace. "Before. Something happened to me. My headache. It got worse, then it felt like my head exploded." He remembered his other symptoms, too: shaking hands, bloody nose, then everything became jumbled, confused. "Something was really wrong with me, wasn't it?" He saw the apprehension on Henderson's face, and insisted, "Tell me. Please."

Henderson nodded with reluctance. "Vara's language probe must have caused more serious damage to you than we all thought," he said, watching Makepeace closely. "You had some kind of a seizure, and Vara's servitors took you away. We were told that Vara was going to 'fix' you. Do you remember anything after that?"

Makepeace thought back. He hesitated. "I remember—"

"Yes? Sir?"

"I remember a room, all black and chrome, with bright lights, and instruments— Machines— I—" Terror clawed at him again.

"Sir?" Concern edged Henderson's voice.

"I think it was a lab, or maybe an infirmary, or something like that," Makepeace forced out. "I blacked out. That's all."

"You were unconscious when the servitors brought you back to us. Godfrey told us to let you sleep. He said you'd be all right in the morning."

"Godfrey?"

"Our hologram butler." Henderson smiled. "Sergeant Andrews named it."

Makepeace also smiled. With his customary irreverence, Andrews had named the hologram after a character from an old screwball comedy about a butler who was far more than he seemed. "My Man Godfrey," Makepeace said, remembering the title of the film. He hadn't seen that flick in years. Years and years and years.

"Yes, sir. Andrews is into that old stuff." Henderson prattled on, gabbling about trivialities associated with the movie and Sergeant Andrews's sometimes Byzantine reasoning processes.

Makepeace gazed off into space as he listened to the comforting chatter, letting it calm and lull him, knowing that was the intent but letting it happen anyway. He needed the reassurance of normalcy, just for a little while. It helped ground him in the real world. He yawned hugely, feeling sleep stealing over him again. He resisted its seductive call and stayed sitting up. "Henderson?"

The corporal broke off. "Sir?"

"How long was I gone?"

Henderson hesitated.

Patiently, Makepeace repeated, "How long was I gone?"

Sighing, Henderson said, "Hours." He gestured to the darkened windows. "It's night, now."

Hours? Night? Makepeace felt disoriented, out of sync. He tried to marshal his thoughts, but they wandered in odd ways. He suddenly felt exhausted, like he couldn't stay awake another moment. Obviously, his body needed more time to recover from whatever had been done to it. Unable to stop himself, he lay back against the pillows, staring up.

"Status," he said, falling back on procedure in his confusion, fighting a losing battle to keep his eyes open, to keep sleep at bay. "What's the situation?"

"We're still prisoners, sir. We're getting good treatment, though. As gilded cages go, it's not too bad." Henderson paused. "There's nothing you can do, for now. You look tired. You should rest. We'll give you a full sitrep in the morning."

Makepeace felt himself relax into the soft, warm bed. Henderson was right; he was so tired he couldn't think straight. Henderson didn't seem too concerned about the situation. It couldn't be dire. Probably was the same as before, probably didn't require an immediate strategy session. Probably. His eyelids drifted shut.

As his awareness leached away into the night, he vaguely noticed that Henderson was arranging the covers over him. Other than the occasional overbearing doctor or nurse, no one had tucked him in since his childhood, but with Henderson he was amused rather than indignant. He murmured drowsily, "You've got a good bedside manner, you know that? Strong enough to manage an old warhorse like me."

"Thank you, sir." Gentle humor laced Henderson's tone.

"You ought to go back to school. Finish that M.D. like you're always talking about."

Henderson made a soft, amused noise. "And miss out on all this adventure? Med school can wait. When am I ever going to get another chance to explore other planets?"

"Makes sense, I suppose," Makepeace mumbled.

Henderson said something else, but Makepeace didn't hear. He slept.

 


	10. Chapter 10

The room was filled with light the next time Makepeace opened his eyes. He was glad to wake up. His nightmares hadn't returned, but the rest of his dreams had been filled with sorrow and an intense, alien loneliness, so poignant it broke his heart.

"You awake, sir?"

He turned his head. Lieutenant Johnson sat by his bedside, watching him. Makepeace smiled. "Good morning. I think."

Johnson broke out into a relieved grin. "Good morning, sir. How are you feeling?"

Makepeace thought about the question. He didn't hurt anywhere, and thankfully his headache was a distant memory. But for that alien sense of loss, and a strange feeling of detachment, he felt perfectly fine. "I think I'm okay. Really, this time." He propped himself on his elbows and considered the man looking down on him. "You guys sit up with me the whole time?"

"We took turns. Had to pull watch shifts anyway, so we did 'em in here. Henderson said you had nightmares last night."

"Yeah." He only had vague memories of those night terrors, about a star and the Goa'uld and death. With a sigh, Makepeace sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The covers fell away, and he saw he was naked. For some reason, that didn't surprise or concern him. He wrapped himself in a blanket and stood up.

Johnson rose from his seat. "You sure you should get out of bed? Maybe Henderson should check you over first."

"I feel fine." Makepeace glanced over at one of the tall, floor-to-ceiling windows. Raindrops speckled the glassy surfaces. Outside, low, dark clouds loomed, obscuring the mountain peaks, shadowing the desert. "It's raining."

"Yes, sir, it is."

Makepeace walked over to the rain-spattered window and stood there, looking out at the gloomy view. Using an index finger, he traced the path of a large drop, until it rolled out of reach. He placed his hand against the pane. "Vara's lonely."

"Sir?" Johnson sounded confused.

"Vara's been alone for thousands of years," Makepeace said. His voice sounded faraway, even to his own ears. "Ever since Sitala came. Sitala came and everything died."

"Sir, why don't you get a shower and something to eat? You'll feel better..."

"A shower?" Makepeace turned around and regarded Johnson quizzically. How was he supposed to take a shower on a planet so alien that even the toilets were unrecognizable? Then he looked about in surprise. "Good Lord," he said mildly. "When did all this happen?"

The room was huge and filled with furniture—real, human-style furniture. There were several large, overstuffed armchairs with footrests. A table and set of chairs stood in one corner. The bed he had recently slept in was king-sized, with fluffy pillows, smooth sheets, and warm, downy blankets. Nightstands were placed on either side of the headboard, supporting porcelain lamps, and a matching dresser sat against the opposite wall. A smaller chair was pulled up beside the bed. The floor was covered in thick, plush carpeting. His toes curled into the deep, soft pile as he stared around in wonder.

Everything was done in a palette of cool, aqua shades. The walls were a deeper blue at their base, to match the carpet, then shaded upwards into swirls of lighter hues, until near the ceiling they were almost white. While it wasn't a decorating scheme he would have chosen, Makepeace rather liked the colors; they reminded him of the sea. He'd always enjoyed sea duty.

There were two doors—tall rectangles rather than the tripartite entrances used elsewhere in the alien city. Both were open. One led to what looked suspiciously like a bathroom; the other to a larger chamber, probably the common room.

He'd been too distracted by the mess in his head to notice the change in his accommodations. The memory of Varayimshaeta's sorrow was a heavy shroud, weighing him down, numbing his senses.

Johnson answered his question. "Last night. I think it was two or three hours after Vara's servitors took you away." He shrugged. "My time sense is all screwed up, but it seemed that long. More of those spheres showed up and brought us here. The whole suite is like this." He swept out a hand, indicating the comfortable furnishings. "We've all got our own bedrooms and private baths. Even the plumbing is like back home." He shook his head. "Guess Vara must've finished that scan on you."

Makepeace exhaled a gust of air at Johnson's implication. He'd thought he was compromised before, but the magnitude of this put the previous violation in the shade. Yet, he was still feeling too adrift, too lost in Varayimshaeta's loneliness, to muster up much concern. He said only, "Well, at least something good came of it."

Johnson gave him a sharp look.

Makepeace pulled the blanket tighter around himself. "I'm all right, Johnson. I just need some time to get back on my feet, that's all."

Curious about the new setup, he wandered out into the common room. Johnson followed him in uncomfortable silence. Makepeace could feel the lieutenant's eyes boring into the back of his skull. He knew Johnson was worried about him, but with Varayimshaeta's traumatic emotions still echoing in his brain, he couldn't make himself care or put forth the effort to reassure his friend.

The common room was unoccupied. "Where are Andrews and Henderson?" he asked. Alarm punched through the fog in his head. Had Varayimshaeta not been satisfied with scanning his own mind? Had the computer taken his men, as well?

Johnson answered, "Out exploring."

That put some of his concerns to rest, and awakened a pragmatic interest. "What? You've found a way out of here?"

"No, sir." Johnson sighed. "This morning Godfrey told us we weren't confined to quarters anymore. We don't really understand why, but I doubt we'll be let out of the city, or into anything important. Probably Vara's just built us a better Habitrail, that's all, but I thought they should check it out anyway."

Makepeace smiled at little at the reference to the elaborate hamster homes—boxy plastic cages connected by a maze of tubes. It seemed appropriate. "You never know what those two will find. There might be a chink in the armor somewhere."

"My thoughts exactly, sir."

Relieved, Makepeace looked around at the Earth-style furniture, the unobtrusive color scheme of cream and beige and tan, the great, floor-to-ceiling windows that lined one curved wall. He saw rectangular side doors on other walls, no doubt leading to those bedrooms Johnson had mentioned. He snooped in all of them. They were just as Johnson had said: huge bedrooms with private baths and assorted furnishings. Off to one side, there was a fully equipped kitchen. On a counter lay a heap of MREs. Obviously, this morning's breakfast.

Adjacent to the kitchen was an attached dining area. It held a glass and marble table with a set of four chairs, a buffet, and even a china cabinet—complete with china. He was amazed at the details that Varayimshaeta had managed to extract from his head. He hadn't realized he knew about half that stuff. His ex-wife's influence, he supposed. Or his mother's. They'd both had similar tastes in decorating.

"If you're finished with the inspection, sir..."

The tense quality of Johnson's voice startled Makepeace. The lieutenant was watching him, a mix of emotions on his face: concern, dismay, indecision. Makepeace finally understood how he must look, wandering around wrapped only in a blanket, hardly talking at all. Not real good. No wonder Johnson was worried.

"Old habits die hard, huh? Sorry, couldn't resist taking a look around." He forced out a laugh. "I think you're right, a shower would be a good idea." He glanced down at himself. "And some clothes."

Johnson smirked. "Don't blame us for that. You ask me, that Vara's some kind of perv."

Makepeace quirked a brow, but all he said was, "So I'm stuck with this blanket?"

"Your clothes are in the top drawer of your dresser, sir. They were delivered at the same time you were."

That time both brows rose. However, Makepeace merely thanked Johnson and beat a quick retreat back to his bedroom.

He dropped the blanket on the bed and went into the bathroom. The lights came on automatically as he stepped through the threshold. He had to admit, this bath was far more impressive than the two he had in his house back in the Springs. Bigger than both of them put together, in fact.

The walls, floor, and ceiling were made of a smooth, sea-green material with a creamy, frothy design that reminded him of sea foam. A counter lined a wall, inset with a faucet and sink. Above it was a large mirror. He peered at his reflection, half expecting to see some of his hair shaved away, a scar, something. All he saw was his own face, his own head of thinning hair, all looking perfectly normal. Whatever Varayimshaeta had done to him hadn't left any physical traces. Maybe it hadn't even been physically invasive. Just mentally invasive, his mind whispered. He winced, put aside that thought, and turned away from the mirror to finish inspecting the bathroom.

On the wall behind him was a heated rack with a set of fluffy towels hanging from it. He investigated an alcove on the left, and found the most important item of all: a good, old-fashioned, American-style porcelain throne, complete with a big roll of toilet paper. After that humiliating alien contraption he'd used earlier, the toilet was a welcome sight.

In the rear of the bathroom stood a spacious, glass-enclosed shower. To its right, in another alcove, was a huge whirlpool bath.

Stranger and stranger. Why treat prisoners so well?

He became aware of a rather basic but demanding physical need, so before he did anything else, he tested out the toilet. It worked perfectly.

Then he grabbed a washcloth and turned on the shower. The spray had been pre-adjusted to the temperature he preferred. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised, since the patterns for just about everything around him must have come straight from his own head. The mere idea was creepy, and he didn't dwell on it.

There was even a bar of soap in the soap dish. This, however, he recognized as having come from SG-3's supplies. Or so he assumed. He used it anyway, happy enough for a decent scrubbing. The hot water pounding on his body helped him shake off the last of the alien melancholia, and he felt more like himself. What a relief, to be rid of that burden, to be able to think clearly again.

After he had left the shower and toweled himself off, he checked out the dresser. His clothes were in the top drawer, just as Johnson had said. What the lieutenant hadn't mentioned, however, was that they had been cleaned, pressed, and folded neatly. Even, he was amused to see, his skivvies.

He dressed quickly, again wondering about the motives of their jailer. His boots he found waiting on the floor, next to the dresser. He picked them up and crossed to the bed to sit and put them on, and got another surprise. The bed, which he had left rumpled, had been made with military precision.

It struck him as highly unlikely that Johnson had snuck in to make the bed while he'd been in the shower. No, obviously Varayimshaeta was keeping tabs on its prisoners. While Makepeace had often fantasized about having a self-making bed, being confronted with the reality of such a thing was just a bit too much. He dropped his boots and plopped down on one tight-creased corner, and rested his head in his hands.

It took him a moment to compose himself. What was the purpose of all this? Why wait on prisoners hand and foot? The constant surveillance wasn't a surprise, but this VIP treatment surely was. Alien, Makepeace told himself, this thing is alien. Who knows, he thought, maybe this is normal treatment for detainees. Or maybe it regarded them as some kind of envoys—not necessarily trusted, but not actual enemies, either, since it must realize by now that they weren't Goa'uld.

He had a hard time believing either of those options.

Was Varayimshaeta's loneliness the key? He thought about that as he reached down to pull on his boots and lace them up. If so, it behooved him to remember as much as possible about his dreams. However little he liked the idea, it was clear to him that they were some of Varayimshaeta's own memories. As such, they should be helpful in divining the computer's motives.

The melancholia had been nothing more than an impression—an overpowering one, to be sure, but nonetheless formless. He needed something more concrete. Something with actual images or ideas. Reluctantly, he concluded that the best place to start was with his nightmare.

Only fragments of that remained. The star, the Goa'uld Sitala, death. The Goa'uld were too much a part of his life these days to be a good starting point. Death—he remembered the shimmering curtain of death, the death of all living things. It was too immense to grasp, too overwhelming, too horrifying. Too...personal? That stuck him as odd, but he couldn't force himself examine it more closely. Not a place he wanted to go right now.

That left the star.

Makepeace closed his eyes and imagined only blackness, then put a single, bright point of light in its center. A feeling of dread and despair came over him, so strong it set his heart to pounding and broke his concentration. He gnawed his lip. The experience was frustrating and unpleasant, but gave him some confidence that a few memories might remain. He only had to find a way to retrieve them. Perhaps he could talk them out with Johnson.

He got up and headed to the door. Low voices came to him from the common room. It sounded like Andrews and Henderson had returned from their little sight-seeing expedition. He heard his name, and paused just inside the doorway to listen.

"He's been acting weird," Johnson was saying.

Henderson asked, "Weird, how?"

"At first he was kinda spacey, like he was dazed or something. Took him a while to pull it together."

"He had some kind of head injury, before Vara 'fixed' him. I figure a little adjustment time is to be expected. He recognized you, right? He improved after a while?"

"Yeah. Seemed quiet, though. And he didn't slap me down when I got outta line."

"Cut him some slack, Lieutenant." That was Andrews. "He's had his head screwed over by an alien bogeyman. I'm sure he'll be back to his usual cheerful and sunny self in a little while."

Good thing he'd done some eavesdropping. Andrews's comment annoyed him, but he also appreciated the support. They sounded really worried, like they were expecting him to freak out on them, or worse. Makepeace leaned against the wall, pondering, recognizing that his subordinates had cause to worry.

Suck it up, Marine, he told himself. He decided this would be a good time to put in an appearance, before they really got themselves worked up. He stepped into the room, saying, "His cheerful, sunny self thanks you for the vote of confidence."

Three faces, wearing identical expressions of shock, swiveled in his direction. As though their movements had been choreographed, Johnson, Andrews, Henderson all stood up in almost perfect unison.

"Colonel, I—"

"Sir—"

"Colonel Makepeace—"

"I'm touched. Really." Their reactions were actually comical, Makepeace thought with malicious amusement. So much for that "cheerful and sunny" crap. He grinned, enjoying their chagrin in a way that he acknowledged as petty.

Johnson recovered first. Schooling his expression into an admirable poker face, he said, "Glad you're feeling better, sir."

"Thanks." Makepeace fixed his gaze on the other two miscreants. "So, I hear you two went exploring. Find anything useful?"

Andrews and Henderson exchanged a glance. "Not really," Henderson said. "The ways out of this tower are either locked or guarded by those spheres. At least we think they were exits. Might've just been places Vara doesn't want us sticking our noses into." He paused. "The rest was weird."

So. Johnson's guess had been right. Their "Habitrail," as he had called it, had been expanded. "Weird?"

Andrews elaborated, "It's this strange mix of alien stuff, and things that look like they might have come from Earth. Saw a few ordinary looking rooms, mostly empty but some of them had regular furniture, like in here. Shit, sir, there was even a head on every floor we checked. It was weird."

Makepeace frowned. "Any idea what the remodeling's all about?"

"Nope," Andrews said. "Godfrey's keeping mum, too. At least we didn't find a torture chamber or anything."

Makepeace grunted. His stomach growled, loudly.

Henderson grinned. "It sounds like you need something to eat, sir."

"So it does," Makepeace said ruefully.

"Hunger's a good sign, sir. Honest."

"Whatever." Makepeace headed to the kitchen counter and scrounged around in the pile of rations. "Where're the canteens?" he asked as he unwrapped and bit into an energy bar. "Don't see 'em."

"In the fridge, sir," Andrews said.

"I hope you know how weird that sounded, considering that we're umpteen zillion light-years from home." Makepeace opened the refrigerator. There was nothing else inside but a pile of canteens. He pulled one out and took a long drink to wash down the energy bar. The refrigerator worked perfectly. The water tasted cold and refreshing, a far cry from the usual lukewarm liquid he'd been half expecting.

"Don't blame me. It all came outta your brain, sir," Andrews tossed out thoughtlessly.

There was an uncomfortable silence. Makepeace eyed his team as he chewed. They were watching him like the proverbial paranoid hawks. He finished his snack, then carried the canteen and another energy bar to a couch and sat down heavily.

A chagrined look came over Andrews's face. "I didn't mean it like that, sir."

"Yes, you did," Makepeace replied. He took a swig of water, opened the wrapper on his second energy bar, and took a bite. They all looked at one other with grave expressions. Makepeace knew he didn't need to reiterate his previous orders to watch him for mental aberrations and take appropriate action if necessary.

"Sir," Henderson finally offered, "we know it's not your fault. It's just..." His voice trailed away and he looked at his teammates helplessly.

"It's weird," Makepeace finished for him. He munched on his food. "You're preaching to the choir, you know. I'm the one who got his head fucked with."

"Yes, sir." Henderson hesitated. "Sir..."

"Yes?"

"Well, I was wondering. Did you get any extra information about Vara, like you did yesterday?"

Makepeace nodded slowly. "I think so. I was thinking about that earlier, but most of my dream recall leaves something to be desired."

Johnson chimed in, "Earlier this morning, while you were still, uh..."

"Spaced out," Makepeace supplied helpfully.

Johnson winced. "Yes, sir. Anyway, you said that Vara was lonely, and you babbled about how everything died because Sitala came. Do you remember that?"

"Yeah." He sighed. "I woke up with this intense feeling of loneliness, but it wasn't mine. I just...I knew it was Vara's. I only just managed to shake it a little while ago. I think it was related to that nightmare I had last night, about everything dying."

Henderson frowned. "But we already knew that Sitala killed the native population here. Vara told us that yesterday."

"No, you don't understand. In my nightmare _everything_ died. Every living creature, plant and animal and insect, even the microbes and viruses. The whole planet was sterilized."

"How? Vara only talked about a plague. That couldn't have sterilized an entire planet. Something alive would have remained—the local rats or cockroaches or lichens, or single-celled organisms. Something. I'm sorry, sir, but it doesn't make sense."

"I know, but that's what I dreamed." Makepeace shook his head, chewing thoughtfully. "Maybe it was just a nightmare, after all." But his voice held a trace of doubt.

Johnson asked, "Colonel, what exactly do you remember from that nightmare?"

Makepeace grimaced. "Not much. A star, and Sitala. And death. The whole world died." He closed his eyes, concentrating again on the star. That familiar feeling of dread washed over him, and then a tumble of images: the horrifying vision of shimmering death, but more detailed this time. He saw eldritch fire, sweeping outwards, consuming everything in its path...

"Radiation," he said suddenly.

"Sir?"

"The planet was sterilized with some kind of radiation. That's why nothing's alive."

Johnson frowned. "That doesn't square with what Vara told us about the plague."

Makepeace shook his head. "That's the image I've got. Radiation," he insisted.

"Did Vara lie to us?" Andrews wondered aloud.

"Why not?"

"Why would it bother?" Henderson countered. "Something doesn't add up. Sir, do you think you can remember any more of that nightmare? I think you're onto something."

"Like what?"

"Like what really happened here. I don't think Vara lied, exactly, but I don't think it told us everything, either." Henderson exhaled. "You obviously got something from Vara last night. Can you remember?"

"I've never been very good at remembering my dreams."

"Anyone ever done any hypnosis?" Andrews asked, half-seriously.

Inwardly, Makepeace recoiled at the idea. Although he knew it was absurd, he couldn't stop the mental pictures of stage hypnotists who made their victims humiliate themselves. He imagined himself clucking and scratching like a chicken, and repressed a shudder.

There was also an even deeper terror that he didn't like to admit—one of further mental violation. He knew that if they got home— _when_ they got home, he corrected himself—the psych boys were going to take his head apart looking for alien memories and potential time bombs. They would probably supplement their hypnotic techniques with drugs, and when they were done the research staff would undoubtedly have their turn with him as well. He accepted all that as necessary, if unpleasant. But to be confronted with it here, so soon...

He couldn't help feeling relieved when his teammates all disclaimed any such specialized abilities. And yet, he also knew, with that same overwhelming but irrational conviction he'd felt yesterday about Varayimshaeta being a computer, that it was essential he remember his dream. That it might be the only way to find out what was going through Varayimshaeta's synthetic brain. Given their circumstances, it appeared that understanding Varayimshaeta was their only hope for escape.

"Probably just as well," Henderson commented. "It might be too soon to try anything like that, considering—"

"I feel perfectly fine, and if I've gotta do it, I'd rather get it over with as soon as possible," Makepeace snapped, irritated. "We wait too long and I'll forget everything. Like I said, I almost never remember dreams." He paused, stared at his hands, then added quietly, "Besides, we've got to find a way out of here before Hammond gets worried."

He didn't need to elaborate on that statement. Everyone was well aware that any rescue team General Hammond sent after them would get caught in the same trap they had.

"Yes, sir," Henderson said. "But since none of us know anything about hypnosis, and you've only remembered a few fragments—"

Andrews broke in, "You look like you got an idea, Lieutenant."

Makepeace glanced over at Johnson. The lieutenant had a pensive look on his face which changed to a grimace, as if he was considering something distasteful. Slowly, sounding as though each word were pulled from him with a winch, he said, "We could always try a guided meditation." He looked at Makepeace. "It can lead to a self-hypnotic state, sir. You'd have complete control over it. It can't hurt, and it might help shake loose a few more of Vara's memories."

Makepeace stared at him, wondering when Johnson had developed telepathic abilities. Was his discomfort with the idea so obvious that Johnson felt prompted to offer reassurances about control?

Andrews asked, "You know about that stuff, Lieutenant?"

Johnson ducked his head in embarrassment. "An old girlfriend of mine was into all that New Age crap. She was really into dreams and meditation and shit, so I was, too. You know how it is."

Andrews laughed. "Fuck, yeah. Anything to get laid. I'll bet you're a certified expert. Probably took all the classes and got lots of practice with her, didn't you, sir?"

Johnson rubbed his face. "Yeah, well, maybe it'll pay off now. Whaddaya say, Colonel? Want to give it a try?"

Time to put up or shut up. Makepeace's fist closed around the remains of his breakfast, crushing the wrapper and energy bar together. A thought occurred to him. "You realize that Vara's probably listening in on every word we say."

"What difference does that make? It already knows we want to leave, and doesn't seem to care." Johnson shrugged. "We won't hear anything it doesn't already know about, and if it tries to stop us, we'll know we're on the right track."

That was true enough. Makepeace got up and walked to the kitchen, aware of his men's eyes on him, annoyed with himself for his wavering and his insecurities.

He looked under the sink. Sure enough, there was a small trash can there. It unnerved him, how Varayimshaeta had all the details right. How Varayimshaeta had obtained all those little details. Makepeace deposited the energy bar in the garbage, then returned to the common room.

"All right," he said. "Let's give it a shot."

 


	11. Chapter 11

"I'd better not hear anyone laugh," Johnson rumbled. "Anybody laughs, I'll kick his ass."

"Now, would we laugh at you, Lieutenant?" Andrews asked, all innocence. He lounged in a well-padded easy chair. On the sofa, Henderson hid a smirk behind one hand.

Meditation. Makepeace had never had so much as an inkling of that facet of Johnson's character, nor would he have guessed it from the lieutenant's past behavior. Wasn't meditation supposed to be a calming, relaxing experience? "Relaxed" was not a word Makepeace normally associated with Daryl Johnson. Granted, Johnson's knowledge of meditation techniques had been acquired part and parcel with a previous girlfriend. He'd probably given it up as soon as the relationship had ended. He hadn't actually said that, though. Did he still practice? The image of bad-ass Johnson sitting in a lotus position, chanting mantras and communing with his inner child, was more than a little entertaining.

Johnson directed a quelling glare at Andrews and Henderson. "You two keep your ugly gobs shut, or we'll never pull this off." He turned a suspicious eye onto Makepeace, who immediately wiped his own smile from his face. "You ready to get started, sir?"

"I suppose I'm as ready as I'll ever be." Makepeace shifted in his overstuffed armchair. He tried to delude himself that it was the alien upholstery that was bothering him, but one could only lie to oneself for so long. Relax, he told himself. Johnson promised you'd have complete control over the entire experience.

To distract himself, he stared down at his stockinged feet and wiggled his toes. Johnson had decreed comfort essential, so Makepeace's boots and belt had come off and the rest of his clothing had been loosened. He felt almost like he was ready to go back to bed.

"Yo, Godfrey," Johnson called out, looking off at a corner.

"Did you require something, sir?" responded a cultured male voice.

Makepeace stared, and finally understood why Andrews had given the hologram its name. Godfrey had changed its—his—look. Gone was the misty, indistinct hologram that couldn't decide whether it wanted to be male or female. Instead, a replica of William Powell stood in the corner, big as life and wearing a traditional butler's monkey suit, looking exactly as he had when he portrayed the title character in "My Man Godfrey." He even had the supercilious expression down pat.

Johnson said, "Godfrey, can you lower the lights a little? It's too bright in here."

"How much light reduction would you like, sir?" Godfrey asked. Damn, it even sounded like William Powell. "Will ten percent do?"

Johnson shrugged. "Yeah, try that."

"Reducing lighting by ten percent," the natty hologram replied.

Makepeace watched, fascinated, as the rain-splattered windows grayed and darkened. The lights dimmed enough to shroud the room in hazy shadows.

Godfrey asked, "How is that, sir?"

"A little more, I think," said Johnson. "Make it another five percent."

The shadows grew as Johnson and Godfrey fiddled with the lighting. When the lieutenant was finally satisfied, much of the color had been leached from the furnishings and carpet, and everything had that grayish cast that accompanies the twilight hours.

"Will you be needing anything else, sir?" the hologram inquired.

"No, I don't think so," replied Johnson.

"Very good, sir." Godfrey vanished.

Johnson pulled up a small chair next to Makepeace. "Are you ready, sir?"

Makepeace nodded.

"All right, then. Close your eyes."

Swallowing his misgivings, Makepeace obeyed.

At first, Johnson simply ran him through a standard but effective set of relaxation exercises. Deep breathing, then the usual sequence: toes, feet, legs, continuing on up to arms and shoulders and finally finishing with his neck and head. Johnson had modulated his voice to a series of low, almost musical tones. Makepeace went with it, letting himself drift along with the deep, soothing sounds.

Now Johnson had him imagine an empty black sky, a great bowl of darkness that was devoid of light but for a single, bright star. Earlier, they had agreed on a script for the meditation, a loose outline based on what Makepeace remembered from his nightmare. Johnson would begin with the star, then move on to Sitala and the radiation. If necessary, he would adjust the script based on whatever imagery Makepeace reported.

The image of a dead black night only evoked the same mildly disturbed feelings that Makepeace had felt two nights ago, when he had stood watch under that terrible void. But when he pictured the lone star, he felt the alien dread from his dreams creep over him. The longer he held the vision in his mind, the more the dark emotions grew. He tensed, fighting to keep his mind from purging the star from his thoughts.

Johnson must have noticed. He shifted the focus back to deep breathing, floating sensations, and the empty night. When Makepeace relaxed, the lieutenant once again added the star.

It burned in space in solitary glory, and this time Makepeace kept his fear at bay. He let the star's cold, yellow light wash over him as long as he could. Finally, though, he was forced to turn away.

Instead of the blackness of space, he beheld a shining planet, a beautiful blue-green jewel wreathed in cottony white clouds. He felt himself drawn toward it. It called to him with clear music and a promise of fulfillment, and he couldn't help drifting in closer.

Suddenly, something reached out, caught hold of him, and pulled him down. He fought against it, but his actions were no longer under his control. He plummeted toward the aquamarine planet, summoned by an unrelenting force that seemed both alien and achingly familiar. Fast and faster he fell, spiraling downward, and no matter what he tried he couldn't stop or even slow his descent.

"What's happening?" he heard Andrews ask, followed by Johnson's strained reply, "I don't know."

He tried to hold on to the words, use them as an anchor to reality, but he was falling too fast and they were wrenched from his fingers.

Then Johnson's voice was gone, whipped away by roaring winds. Makepeace was sucked down, down through the atmosphere, through layers of earth and sediment and rock, into the planet's very heart, where he was surrounded by incandescent light and liquid fire. The burning radiance filled and consumed him, stole his identity and possessed him, until he was one with the World—more, he was the World. He could feel its rhythms, the ebb and flow of the waves of its oceans, the raging intensity of a thunderstorm on a far continent, the rise of a river and the warm sunlight on a field of ripe grain, the zooming of aircars and the Zand-Faylakk transports to and from the great cities, even the seasonal migrations of the tiny creatures the People called _koomii_.

The blood of the World warmed him and fed his strength, giving him the power he needed to maintain the World. The breath of the World was in his lungs, and he controlled every aspect of weather for purposes that ranged from watering crops with rainstorms to creating shimmering rainbows and pleasant summer afternoons. The body of the World was his own, and he minimized quakes and calmed volcanoes, channeling the pressure along deep, remote paths until it eased. He performed thousands, millions, of routine tasks that kept the World functioning with seamless precision.

His existence, his entire purpose, was to maintain the World for the People, and keep them both safe. It was what he had been created for. Without the World and the People, life had no meaning. He held them both in a loving embrace, taking care of all needs, protecting them and allowing the People to continue their pursuit of perfection.

Except soon there would be no more People to care for. An alien star had come into the sky, and it had brought with it death.

Voidship travel was not unknown, though the People had never developed much need to build machines that could venture beyond the orbit of the World. There was nowhere to go. Indeed, in the distant past all had believed that nothing else existed but their own small system.

Civilization had progressed apace in spite of this lack. A few probes had been launched to examine the Sun and the occasional comet, and satellites were put into orbit to study the World and provide for industrial needs. Some of the People enjoyed watching the rare meteor showers. Otherwise, science and technology had all but ignored space in favor of more useful subjects.

Then, in the Second Epoch, a star had appeared in the sky. It had been an alien voidship, something unheard of in that time. The ship had carried a group of explorers, who had placed the Chenvwathd Gateway upon the World. They taught the People its use then left, never to return. It was the People's first awareness that they weren't alone in the universe. The social disruptions had nearly destroyed them all before the horrifying truth was commonly accepted and civilization could move forward again.

Those who were both curious and adventurous journeyed through the Chenvwathd Gateway. Many never returned. Those who did brought back strange stories, peculiar artifacts, and tainted knowledge. Three thousand years later Gateway travel was standardized and monitored, and a small trade in exotic alien goods was developed with certain of those strange beings who lived beyond the blue event horizon. But even after so much time, most of the People still gave the Chenvwathd Gateway a wide berth, distrustful of where it led, wisely avoiding those Other places as too dangerous for contact. The majority of the People preferred to keep the World isolated.

Those first aliens had had mysterious and perhaps benign intentions, but they weren't loved or appreciated. Their activities—their mere existence—had wrought discord and uncertainty. A new word was coined: xenophobia. An orbital defense system was devised, but in the Epochs that had followed no other alien voidships had appeared in the sky. The Chenvwathd Gateway was put under strict control, enclosed in an impenetrable housing so any alien who came through uninvited found itself trapped with no recourse but to return home. Gradually, the trade in alien goods ceased; the Chenvwathd Gateway fell into disuse. Over time, the People relaxed their vigilance. By the Fifth Epoch, the defensive satellites were untended and their orbits degraded, until they crashed into the oceans in blazes of meteoric glory.

Now, in the Sixth Epoch, a new star burned in the heavens.

These new visitors were not well-intentioned, although at first they claimed they were. A being of unsurpassed ugliness calling herself Sitala said she had come to negotiate a trade agreement for an alien ruler named Nirrti. It had been a ruse, to give her people time to tailor her plague and seed it across the World. Her misshapen form reigned triumphant as death rained down upon the People.

An engineered and targeted virus, the plague was fast acting and always lethal. It induced fever and uncontrolled hemorrhaging, and such terrible pain that death was a release. There was no immunity, no preventative vaccine, no cure. Within days, all the People were either dead or in the last stages of dying. None were spared.

The tailored virus remained, poisoning the World. If it had no hosts to infect, the virus simply waited, deceptively dormant, in the soil and the water. Animals and plants were unaffected by its presence, but none of the People would ever again live on the World.

He watched, enraged to madness, as Sitala's great pyramid ship landed and her minions emerged to loot the World, to defile his body, his being. They took technology and art alike, kicking aside the dead, ignoring the cries of the dying. The aliens took control of the Chenvwathd Gateway and called more of their own through it. They spread almost as swiftly as their bioengineered disease had, destroying buildings for sport, torturing for amusement those of the People who could still scream.

For the first time in the two Epochs of his existence, he knew hatred. His duty was clear. The World had to be kept pure: the contamination, the alien abomination, would be excised. The World would be purged of the virus, freed of the aliens.

It would be cleansed.

From deep within his own body he summoned the fiery manifestation of his hate: ionizing radiation intense enough to destroy all biological functions instantly. It rolled out over the planet, emerging from every access point he had available. Oceans, atmosphere, land masses—all became suffused with the agent of purification. Buildings and other structures were charred by the radiant heat. Those that weren't damaged he destroyed himself, with earthquakes and thunderbolts. Nothing would remain for the aliens to desecrate but the Zand-Faylakk road system, and that he deactivated.

He left only the Chenvwathd Enclosure intact. The reinforced structure was the only way to keep aliens who came through the Chenvwathd Gateway away from the World. He sealed it shut, using controls that had been designed for just that isolationist purpose.

The cleansing onslaught proceeded unabated. Oceans heated, lakes boiled, continents burned, and everything died.

Leaving its own dead behind, Sitala's voidship rose from the planet and headed back into space.

Wave after wave of the lethal radiation continued to sweep out, sterilizing and re-sterilizing everything in its path.

Inexorable.

Final.

Until he was alone. And only then did he end the outflows of radiation.

The virus was gone, its presence utterly eradicated.

The World was free.

Purified.

But now nothing lived upon it—no plant, no animal, no microbe. His life had no purpose. Overwhelmed with grief, he shut himself down.

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

"—won't wake up!"

"Do something—"

Through an endless abyss of darkness, Makepeace was aware of being shaken. Strong fingers dug into his shoulders. It hurt, but it was nothing compared to the pain he had fled, the pain of a murdered world. His murdered world—his crime—his loss. There was more shaking. The violent motion disturbed him, jarred his consciousness, prompted memory. He wished it would stop.

After a moment, it did, and he sank into warm oblivion.

"What? I'm open to suggestions—"

A sharp slap to one cheek brought him back to semi-awareness, but this time he felt only irritation. Why wouldn't they just leave him alone? Was there something he had forgotten? Did it matter?

He started to drift again, back into forgetfulness.

"Jesus, Lieutenant, what are you doing?"

"You said to do something."

"I didn't mean that—"

Another slap, harder this time.

"Come on, Colonel, wake up!"

The next slap rattled his teeth. Weren't there rules against hitting a superior officer? Then he was being shaken again.

"God damn it, Bob, don't do this to us!"

Johnson sounded really worried. Makepeace couldn't understand why. He was only sleeping, wasn't he? He supposed he ought to let the Three Stooges know he was all right, before they called out the riot squad or something.

He struggled to open his eyes, but it was an awful lot of work, and they remained closed.

"—think he's coming out of it. His eyelids twitched— See? They did it again."

"Thank God. Colonel? Colonel, can you hear me?"

Makepeace made a Herculean effort, and managed to crack one eye open. Success bred success, and his other eye opened as well. There was a large, dark blur right in front of him. Makepeace blinked several times to clear his vision. The blur resolved into Johnson's face. The lieutenant broke out into a huge grin.

"Welcome back, sir!"

Two more faces appeared in his field of vision. Henderson and Andrews. They all looked relieved about something, and were grinning like idiots.

"Jesus," Makepeace muttered, "can't a guy get some sleep around here?"

"Sorry, sir, but no sleep allowed for colonels who keep scaring us," quipped Andrews.

"Scaring you?" He was slouched in an armchair. The position was uncomfortable, so he moved to straighten up, but his body was sluggish and unresponsive. Grunting with effort, he managed it anyway. He felt chilled, and rubbed his arms, asking, "Is it cold in here?"

"No, sir." Henderson leaned over him, pressing two fingers to his throat. "Pulse and respiration seem okay now," he reported to Johnson.

That got his attention. Makepeace stared at them. "What was that all about? I thought you said the meditation thing was safe?"

"It usually is," Johnson replied, "but this wasn't...normal. I've never seen anything like it."

"What happened? Why am I cold?"

The trio exchanged a glance. Henderson said, "It looked like you had another seizure. You're cold because your metabolism dropped. Your pulse and respiration went way down. They're fine now, though."

"Oh." Makepeace closed his eyes, remembering the end of his too-vivid dream. He murmured, "Vara shut down." Apparently, he had tried to shut down, too. He wrapped his arms around his chest at the thought. Would he have died? He looked up at Johnson. "Was that you hitting me?"

The lieutenant looked guilty. "You wouldn't wake up, sir," he said by way of explanation.

"It's okay, Johnson." Makepeace blew out a loud breath. "More than okay. Thank you. I mean it."

Johnson smiled. "You're welcome, Colonel."

Makepeace pushed himself out of the chair and started pacing, getting his circulation going again.

"Sir, maybe you ought to take it easy," Henderson said.

Makepeace responded, "I'm okay now, and this helps." He could feel his body warming and returning to normal with the exercise.

Henderson nodded but kept an eye on him. "You said Vara shut down. What did you mean?"

Still pacing, Makepeace said, "At the end of my dream, Vara shut itself down. It had nothing left to live for..." He stopped dead. "Jesus fucking Christ!"

"Sir?"

"Fuck fuck fuck! Godfrey!" he bellowed. "Godfrey, get your ass in here! Now!"

The butler hologram shimmered into view. "Did you require something, sir?" it asked in its snooty voice.

"Yes! I want to talk to Vara! Now!"

Johnson caught Makepeace's arm. "Sir, what's the matter? What did you remember?"

"Vara killed its own world!" Makepeace snarled. "That thing is insane. Godfrey, did you hear me? You tell Vara to talk to us, or let us go. Do you understand that?"

"I will relay your request, sir," Godfrey replied calmly. It vanished.

"Colonel, what do you mean?" Johnson asked. "Colonel! What was in that dream? Tell us."

Makepeace inhaled deeply, forcing himself to calm down. He faced his men. "Vara's not just a computer. It's so advanced it's some kind of artificial lifeform. It gets its power from the planet's core—geothermal energy on a huge scale. The whole thing was created to be—I don't know—I guess it's a combination of controller and caretaker for this world."

"How so?"

"It's integrated with the whole damn planet. It controls the weather, earthquakes, equipment and machinery, food production, everything. But the people who built it were intensely xenophobic." He looked Andrews in the eye. "You were right the other night, Mike. About how these people might not be like us, just because their sky is empty. There are no visible stars in the sky, just the sun and a few comets and meteor showers. Maybe there are some other planets—I don't know, that wasn't clear. The people here didn't particularly care about anything beyond their own world. They thought they were all alone." He paused, then said to Andrews, "You were right about that, too."

"I hate being right," Andrews responded.

"What are you two talking about?" Johnson asked.

"The colonel and I had a talk during third watch the other night, about the aliens who lived here, and how the night sky might have affected them. It was nothing, really, just a way to pass some time—"

"But you were right," Makepeace repeated. "These people never saw the stars, and just like you thought, they didn't have any idea there was a universe beyond this system." He shook his head. "They were already an advanced technological civilization when the aliens placed the Stargate here. More advanced than we are now, from what I saw. But at first they couldn't handle the truth about the universe. The Stargate almost tore their culture apart. I don't think they ever really recovered from it."

Makepeace returned to his chair and sat down. He raked his fingers through his hair and related everything he had recalled, leaving out no detail, making a point of describing the complacency and denial that had led to the loss of this world's space defenses, and the devastation of Sitala's viral attack. As he talked, his panic faded but didn't leave him entirely.

He finished with, "Vara's every bit as xenophobic as its creators. It went crazy when Sitala wiped out the native population. It decided that the only way to get rid of all traces of the virus was to sterilize the entire planet with ionizing radiation. Nothing's alive here except us. There isn't so much as a single native microbe left."

"Fuck," muttered Andrews.

"No shit."

Henderson said, "But, sir, all that radiation—that must have really screwed up the atmosphere, left radioactive traces in the soil and water... Why is this planet still livable?"

"You're asking me?" Makepeace shrugged. "Vara takes care of it. I don't know why or how. Maybe it's some kind of automatic thing."

"You said Vara shut itself down," Johnson said. "What happened? Why is it awake now?"

Andrews speculated, "The Stargate activation must have woke it up somehow."

"That must be what happened," said Makepeace. "It has a pretty elaborate system in place for monitoring the Stargate. For whatever godforsaken reason, it allowed us out of the access building so we wouldn't go home. It started up the transportation system and even offered us a ride, remember? When we didn't take the bait, it captured us and brought us here." Another of those odd, alien impressions struck him. "This place, the whole city...Vara rebuilt it in a single day, the day we arrived." He saw it all, the rise of the glittering city from nothing, growing upwards, building upon itself. Like a movie of melting ice being run in reverse.

His men looked shocked, and he couldn't blame them. Andrews asked, "Was that in your nightmare, too?"

"No, no, the nightmare ended with Vara shutting down. But I know it, like I knew Vara was an AI. It just came to me—I can see it happening in my head. Look at how it's remodeled the place for us, human furniture and facilities, all in just a few hours, like magic." Makepeace shook his head at the power, the technology... The fury. "At first... At first, I think it was still angry, especially when it thought we were Goa'uld, but now..."

"Wouldn't it have killed us outright?" Andrews asked. "I mean, Sitala murdered its people, right? That's what drove it nuts."

They were all silent, considering that. Henderson said, "Yesterday, in that audience chamber, Vara said it wanted to talk to us, even though it thought we were Goa'uld. It sounded kind of weird."

"Colonel, this morning you said it was lonely," Johnson pointed out.

Makepeace nodded slowly, sorting through the tangible evidence as well as the alien memories and emotions Varayimshaeta had bequeathed him. "Yeah. This is only a guess, but I think it's decided it's been alone long enough. I think it wants some company. And it looks like we're it."

"Oh, lucky us," Andrews moaned. "At least we know why it's treating us so nice. We're house guests."

"More like house pets," Johnson said, scowling. "This isn't exactly a voluntary visit, you know."

 


	13. Chapter 13

Andrews summoned Godfrey to set the lighting back to normal. Makepeace put his boots back on and fixed his clothes, then got up and wandered over to the windows. The sky was still overcast; the rain falling by the bucketsful. The blue of the mountains had been turned to slate by the soggy afternoon light.

Had they really only been on this planet for three days? It felt like at least a month.

He saw a brassy glint off to one side, in the direction of the flatlands. A large number of gold spheres were gliding back and forth in a coordinated fashion. Varayimshaeta's servitors.

"I wonder what they're doing?" Johnson murmured.

Makepeace turned his head, saw that the lieutenant was standing beside him. He shrugged. "Who knows?"

"You might."

Makepeace gave him a sharp look. "Not this." He returned to watching the spheres. They moved in complex, elaborate patterns, almost like they were dancing. "I got a history lesson, and a few odd feelings and facts, but I don't know anything about this."

"Yes, sir."

Clanking and banging noises came from the kitchen. By mutual, unspoken consent, the two men dropped their conversation and went to find out what was going on. Sergeant Andrews popped up from behind a kitchen counter, brandishing a large pan. "You guys think this is cast iron?" he asked.

"What are you doing?" asked Henderson.

"Gonna try out the stove. So, what about the pan?"

Godfrey was consulted. The hologram confirmed that the pan was indeed cast iron, and perfectly safe for humans to use to cook food.

For some reason, that irritated Makepeace. In a fit of rebellion, he growled, "I'd rather you used our own gear."

"Love to, but it ain't here, sir," Andrews said.

"Well, why don't we ask for it? It's not dangerous. We might even get it."

"It's worth a shot. Oh, Godfrey!" Andrews sang out. "Yoooo, hoooo."

Shaking his head, Makepeace left him to cajole the butler. The door beckoned, so he walked over to it. He hated this trapped feeling, and even though he knew it an empty gesture, he wanted to leave the suite. The door slid open with the barest whisper of sound, revealing an empty, unguarded corridor. Its length was lined with four more doors, two on each side, and it terminated at a fifth door. He stepped into the hall, into the illusion of at least partial freedom.

He really, really wanted off this planet.

"Want some company, sir?" Henderson had joined him.

Makepeace shrugged.

"It's best not to wander around alone, sir."

Did they really think he'd run off by himself? Sure, he'd taken a beating over the last two days, but he hadn't lost all his common sense. He said as much, in a rather irate tone, adding somewhat defensively, "I was just curious about what's out here, is all."

Unfazed, Henderson grinned cockily. "Yes, sir. Don't worry, sir, we all understand cabin fever. If you like, I can give you the grand tour."

In spite of his annoyance at the blatant baby-sitting, Makepeace had to admit he was curious about the remodeling project Henderson and Andrews had talked about after their excursion. He smiled crookedly and said, "Lead on, MacDuff."

Henderson headed down the hall. The corridor had a basic rectangular shape, with smooth walls tinted a muted green, the color much easier on human eyes than the gem-bright hues Makepeace had previously seen. Whenever they poked their heads into a room, they saw a variety of human-style furnishings. The first two looked like less grand versions of their own apartments. The third, Makepeace was startled to see, held a swimming pool, a Jacuzzi, and what looked like a sauna. The overhead lights reflected off the aquamarine water and the tiled walls.

Henderson grinned at his reaction. "Nobody's tried it out, yet."

"I'm surprised." He knew his guys were water rats. Makepeace breathed in the warm, humid air, wondering how long it would be before someone broke the pool in. If they didn't get off this planet soon, he might give it a go himself.

"We've had other concerns, sir."

Makepeace winced.

Leaving the pool room with regret, they moved on to the last doorway on the right. "Well, that's new," said Henderson, leaning into the chamber. He sounded surprised.

"New?" asked Makepeace.

"This stuff wasn't here this morning. Check it out, sir."

Makepeace stepped into the room and stopped. "Is that a big screen TV?"

The blank screen took up an entire wall. It had to be at least fifteen feet high. Placed near the back of the cavernous room were a sofa and several reclining chairs with footrests. A coffee table and some end tables accompanied them. Scattered in strategic locations were a number of dark boxes of varying sizes that looked remarkably like speakers. There were no windows, the lighting relying solely on thin, glowing panels set near the ceiling.

"I think it's a home theater," said Henderson. He remarked with admiration, "You've got one hell of an imagination, Colonel."

Makepeace grunted and walked over to the coffee table. He picked up the remote control sitting there. "I wonder if it gets ESPN?" He refrained from pushing the power button. God help him if Varayimshaeta had reproduced the last porno flick he'd seen.

"Turn it on, sir. Let's see what it's got."

Let's not, thought Makepeace. He didn't really care if his team knew he'd seen "Pulp Friction"—hell, knowing them, they probably all had bootleg copies of the thing—but there was no telling what Varayimshaeta might have dredged out of his subconscious. Enough of his psyche had been on display already. He set the remote down.

"Later," he said. "Why don't we see what else has changed in the neighborhood since you scouted it out this morning?"

"Yes, sir." Henderson looked disappointed.

Tough, Makepeace thought.

The two men left the theater and continued their perambulations toward the tall door set at the very end of the hall. "That's the elevator," Henderson informed him.

"You said it was unguarded?"

"It was this morning."

As the men approached, the elevator opened and disgorged a triad of the gold spheres. Within their midst they carried another of SG-3's rucksacks, just as they had carried the food and canteens. Makepeace and Henderson moved aside to let them pass. The entourage floated serenely down the hall and entered the Marines' suite.

"Looks like Andrews got his cooking gear," Henderson remarked.

Makepeace was thoughtful. "I wonder what else we could get, if we made the right arguments?"

"If you're thinking of weapons, sir, we've already tried that this morning, while you were still asleep. Godfrey wouldn't go for it."

"Figures."

The spheres exited the suite and floated back toward the elevator.

"That was fast," Makepeace said. He watched as the orbs glided in his direction. "You know, I'd really like to find out where they're going."

"You think they'll let us follow them, sir?"

"Probably not, but what the hell. It's not like we've got anything better to do."

The spheres passed by, and the two Marines fell into step with them. Surprisingly, Makepeace and Henderson were allowed to follow the orbs into the elevator. The men exchanged a glance, but stayed silent for the whole ride down. The door opened, revealing a large, circular chamber lined with five additional doorways. This room hadn't been redesigned to accommodate humans. The colors were hard and vivid, the architecture full of curves and odd angles. The spheres moved to a tripartite door directly across from the elevator. The men followed them.

"Didn't get down here this morning," commented Henderson.

Makepeace said, "Maybe it's a way out."

"Or the way to the servants' quarters. So to speak."

"I'll take whatever I can get."

The door's three sections slid apart, and the spheres floated into what looked like another elevator. When the Marines tried to follow, the spheres blocked the entrance. The door closed in their faces.

"That was rude," Makepeace said.

"We got farther than I expected, though," Henderson pointed out. He wandered over to an adjacent door. "Upstairs, the doors are all on some kind of sensor. They open on approach." This door, however, stayed shut.

"I'd say they don't work that way down here."

"Maybe it takes more?" Henderson knocked on the door and said, "Open, says me." It didn't budge. "Guess nobody's home."

"Or nobody's answering."

"Yeah. We're probably not supposed to go in there."

The two men tried the rest of the doors. The only one that opened was the elevator they had arrived in. "Looks like that's our limit," said Makepeace as he stepped inside.

"Better than nothing, sir," said Henderson. "Like I said, it's farther than we got this morning. Maybe Vara was satisfying our curiosity."

"I'm getting really tired of Vara."

"Yes, sir. Shall we head back, or do you want to explore some more?"

"You said there was no way out on any of the floors you reconned?"

Henderson shook his head. "Not that we could find. We checked everything pretty thoroughly."

"Think we can coax this thing to go further down?" Makepeace waved a hand at the control panel, which showed a glowing symbol on its hexagonal display, below which was a pad of small symbols, neatly arranged in thirty-six rows of twelve. The symbol in the first column of the seventh row matched the one on the display. "There are a helluva lot of floors below this one to choose from."

"Worth a shot." Henderson touched the next symbol in the pad. The elevator didn't budge. He tried all of the lower symbols on the panel, with the same lack of results.

"Or not." Makepeace folded his arms and leaned against the wall.

"There's always the upper levels. At least, the ones Vara will give us access to. You want to have a look, sir?"

"Nah, not right now." There wasn't much point, beyond satisfying idle curiosity. Henderson and Andrews were pros, and Makepeace trusted them implicitly. If they hadn't found anything, there was nothing to find. Any new floors added since the morning recon could wait for a while. Varayimshaeta certainly wouldn't add in any escape routes while redecorating. Makepeace said, "Why don't we see what Andrews has concocted for lunch?"

"The penthouse it is."

"The penthouse?"

"Didn't you know, sir? We're on the top floor. Best rooms in the whole damn place, too." Henderson touched the first symbol on the keypad, and the door obligingly closed. The elevator started upwards.


	14. Chapter 14

It wasn't a true penthouse, Makepeace thought as he and Henderson walked down the short hallway to SG-3's suite. The layout wasn't quite right, what with the short corridor and the other rooms. However, it was obvious that their suite took up the lion's share of the top floor, and the other four apartments were clearly subordinate to it. The next largest chambers had held the theater and the pool. The others had been more in the nature of private retreats or guest accommodations.

The door to the suite opened, and enticing smells wafted out into the hall. Once again, Makepeace was amazed at the way Mike Andrews could turn even the most unappetizing of supplies into something edible. His stomach growled. It seemed like half a lifetime since he'd eaten those two energy bars.

"Hey," Andrews called cheerfully, as he appeared out of the kitchen. "You two are just in time for lunch. Hungry?"

"Starving," Makepeace confirmed.

"Good. Then you won't notice that it's all reconstituted drek."

"I'm sure it's fine," Makepeace said honestly.

With a slight smile, Johnson asked, "How was the tour?"

"Unusual."

"You could say that about this whole place, sir."

Henderson said, "We followed the spheres that brought Andrews his pots and pans. Got down to a level that hasn't been refitted."

"A way out?"

"Maybe," Makepeace said. "But we couldn't get past any of the doors."

"Same old, same old," commented Andrews as he carried two platters heaped with steaming food to the table. Ceramic platters, Makepeace noticed, plus china plates and nice silver on the table, rather than their own mess kits. Varayimshaeta's handiwork again. He was getting really tired of that AI.

Eyeing the generous portions, he dryly commented, "Rationing already, I see."

Andrews cocked a brow. "Check out the pantry, sir."

Makepeace gave him a funny look, but went to the kitchen and opened the pantry door. Inside, the overlarge space was crammed full of MREs, dehydrated camp food, juice packages, and canteens that probably held water. There were at least three times the supplies that SG-3 had carried with them—enough to last them a month or more. "Jesus."

"There's no way to tell which is the stuff we brought with us, and what Vara duplicated for us," Andrews said. He added plaintively, "Sir, couldn't you have imagined some fresh food, so we wouldn't be stuck with all that milspec crap?"

Makepeace threw him a nasty glare. "I'll keep that in mind the next time I get my brain scanned." He sat down at the table.

Over a lunch of prepackaged chicken, rehydrated carrots, reconstituted mashed potatoes, and plastic bags of juice, Makepeace and Henderson related the details of their excursion. Other than the lower level, there wasn't much very interesting. Johnson and Andrews did find the super-sized home theater a source of amusement and, as Henderson had earlier, complimented their leader on his imagination and probable fantasy life.

Makepeace promptly forbade use of the theater. "I'd like to keep my fantasy life private, if you people don't mind," he said, a touch of bitterness creeping into his voice.

They looked uncomfortable at that comment. Perhaps they simply hadn't realized how intrusive this situation was for him, Makepeace thought. At any rate, the conversation shifted away from the home theater and its likely source of media entertainment, and back onto Varayimshaeta and the aliens who had created the AI. Unfortunately, this led right back to Makepeace's dreams, but at least their subject matter wasn't anything too personal to him.

Johnson toyed nervously with his potatoes, then asked, "Sir, I'm curious. Do you know what they looked like?"

"They who?"

"The inhabitants of this world. From the weird furniture and the crapper we had yesterday, I figured they couldn't have been even remotely human."

"Amen," Makepeace said with a grin. "Never actually got a look at any of them. That's pretty strange, now that I think about it. I guess Vara's still a bit protective of them." He added, "I do know that Vara thought Sitala was ugly to the point of being deformed. By this world's standards, she was repulsive."

"Guess that lets us know where we stand, looks wise."

"It seems to have readjusted its standards," said Henderson, "or maybe it just doesn't look too close at us."

Andrews snorted. "Some people like ugly pets. Think of those hairless cats, or those butt-ugly dogs with all the revolting wrinkles and folds of skin."

"Sharpei."

"Gesundheit."

"No, Sharpei," Henderson said with a straight face. "That's the breed of dog you were talking about."

"It's still ugly."

"Are you two comparing us to a Sharpei?" demanded Johnson.

"No, sir. We're much prettier," said Andrews. "And our skin actually fits."

Makepeace chuckled. "It's no worse than being compared to hamsters." When Johnson raised his brows in confusion, he added, "Habitrails, remember?"

The lieutenant looked abashed. "I wasn't specifically calling us hamsters, sir."

"Of course not."

The rest of the meal passed in a similarly lighthearted vein, and Makepeace was careful not to dampen the mood. Their nerves had been stretched taut for too long, and it was pleasant to just relax, if only for a little while. It was also nice, he admitted to himself, to not be the center of all that stress. Maybe things could get back to normal—at least, as normal as things could be while they were the unwilling house guests of an unbalanced alien computer.

They had just finished eating when Godfrey appeared and announced that Varayimshaeta was ready to talk to them. About time, Makepeace thought irritably. In spite of the relatively uneventful afternoon, his half-demented demand—and the knowledge that had driven it—had lurked in the back of his thoughts all day. To tell the truth, he was surprised. He hadn't really believed the AI would bother responding at all.

The door opened, and three of the golden spheres floated into their suite. Godfrey said, "Please go with the servitors."

Johnson rapped out, "Why the hell can't we talk to Vara here? Isn't that damn computer everywhere?"

Godfrey didn't deign to reply; it only winked out of existence. The three spheres floated patiently.

"Fucking alien machines," Johnson grumbled.

Andrews eyed the spheres. "That was a good question. Why can't Vara talk to us here? Anyone got any ideas?" He looked to Makepeace. "Sir?"

"How the hell should I know?" Makepeace snapped defensively. "That damn dream didn't go into detailed theories about computer psychology. I bet Johnson's got it right. This is probably just how it likes to do things."

Amid some grousing at Varayimshaeta's seemingly arbitrary behavior, SG-3 left the false security of their suite and allowed the spheres to shepherd them through the hall and into the elevator.

When the elevator's doors opened, Makepeace saw that they had been taken down to the same circular chamber that he and Henderson had found earlier.

"Deja vu," Henderson said.

"Huh?" said Andrews, gawking at the weird architecture.

Makepeace only had time to explain in a few terse words before the spheres were on the move again. The second door to the left slid open, then the Marines were led through it and down a long hallway. The passage was stark, bereft of windows or any ornamentation, and colored a brilliant emerald hue. The vaulted ceiling arched high overhead. The hall had only two exits: the door they had entered from, and another closed door at its far end.

As they approached, the tripartite door opened silently. Beyond it was a dome-shaped room identical to the audience chamber they had been in the day before. Here also a terrible pillar of light stretched from apertures in the floor and ceiling, its pulses accompanied by a deep throbbing like a heartbeat. The floors were onyx, the walls milky and translucent with multicolored glows lighting them from within. Light spheres circled high overhead. The great, faceted crystals set in the ceiling made Makepeace's stomach turn over.

He forced himself to walk into the room. He wanted some answers. In fact, he was desperate for them.

"Greetings, Colonel Makepeace," said Varayimshaeta's synthesized voice. The not-quite-synchronized chorus of male and female pitches, blended with overlapping harmonics, came as a shock, and Makepeace stopped dead. Godfrey had spoken in an ordinary human voice, but apparently Varayimshaeta chose not to. Makepeace heard his men stop behind him and murmur among themselves as the alien AI greeted each of them by name. It sounded quite familiar. Even, strangely enough, friendly.

"I trust you are fully recovered, Colonel," it went on. "My sincerest apologies for the discomfort you endured."

Makepeace was taken aback by the solicitous words. For an insane computer, Varayimshaeta sounded remarkably polite. "Yeah, I wanted to talk to you about that—"

"I hope your quarters have been made more comfortable. I have gone to great pains to create and maintain accommodations suitable for your species."

The Marines exchanged a disbelieving look among themselves. This was such a far cry from yesterday's interview that it was beyond bizarre. Varayimshaeta was being downright chatty.

Makepeace tried again, "Vara, look, about what you did to me yesterday—"

"There is a problem?"

"Damn straight there is! I have memories that belong to you. Was that some kind of bleed-over?"

"I extracted information about your language, history, and biology from you. To facilitate understanding, I gave you a brief history of my world, as well as an explanation for yesterday's misunderstanding. I apologize for my hostility, but your physical appearance is very much like that of the Goa'uld, as you named the invaders."

"You screwed with my head deliberately?" Makepeace goggled at the column of light, unable to appreciate what he had been told and somewhat startled by Varayimshaeta's command of American English. It was as good as his own, although its phrases were formal and stilted. He supposed it made sense, since Varayimshaeta's understanding had been taken from him. He also noticed it was more at ease with the word "I" than it had been before. From his dream memory he knew that Varayimshaeta didn't have as strong a sense of personal identity as humans did, but apparently it was learning. He wondered if that was good or bad.

Henderson stepped forward. "Why couldn't you have just told us that information? Why place it directly in Colonel Makepeace's head?"

"The medium of exchange was direct access to knowledge and memory," Varayimshaeta replied.

"That's nuts," Johnson muttered.

"Not really, sir," Henderson said. "Just...different. Alien. I don't believe we can really understand how Vara thinks." To Varayimshaeta he said, "You, um, you purchased the colonel's knowledge and memories with some of your own? Is that what you mean?"

"The analogy is partially correct. In addition, direct memory exchange and implantation facilitates understanding better than spoken language. Such exchanges were once commonplace."

"Your memories damn near killed me!" Makepeace snarled. "And they weren't particularly accessible, either."

"Your brain's configuration was not compatible with the implantation technology. The adjustments made before the final genetic, biochemical, and physiological scans and analyses were completed did not result in satisfactory conformity."

Lovely, Makepeace thought. The fucking thing had been experimenting on him. His anger swelled. "What the hell else did you do to me?"

"I repaired the physical damage done by the initial probe," Varayimshaeta replied serenely. "Other than the knowledge given you, you are as you were before."

At least his concerns about implanted programming had been relieved—well, mostly. Assuming Varayimshaeta wasn't lying, of course. There was no reason he could see for the AI to lie, since he and his men were utterly within its power. And there was another problem.

"Vara," Makepeace said, very quietly, "We know you destroyed your own world. That was part of the package of 'knowledge and memory' you gave me." Henderson stirred next to him.

"My primary directive is to maintain the World and keep it free of undesired impurities. Sterilization was the only way to remove the alien virus from the planetary environment."

"Colonel," Henderson murmured into Makepeace's ear, "this isn't a safe line of questioning. Vara's probably got its actions thoroughly rationalized, and if it doesn't, well..."

"It might go nuts again, and decide we're an undesired impurity?" he whispered back.

"Better not risk it, sir."

The warning was apt. Makepeace nodded and backed off, swallowing his anger and bitterness at having been used as an unwitting guinea pig, and his knee-jerk desire to strike back at the computer in revenge.

Johnson stepped forward. "You said you know we aren't Goa'ulds. So why are you still holding us here against our will?" When there was no reply, he cocked a brow and added, "The colonel here thinks you're lonesome. Is that it? You just want some company?"

The AI spoke slowly and bluntly. "That is correct."

Makepeace had almost cringed at the way Johnson had phrased his question, but Varayimshaeta's statement drove his desire to murder his second from his head. The flat, emotionless acknowledgment was so at odds with his memory of the AI's intense loneliness that he was rendered speechless.

Andrews had no such difficulties with articulation. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean? You haven't even been talking to us until now, so why bother?"

"Companionship does not always require conversation, only presence. I understand this is also true for humans."

"Sometimes," Makepeace said cautiously.

"Then we understand one another."

"Not really," Johnson muttered under his breath.

"It just likes having us around?" Andrews asked. He looked incredulous.

"Apparently," said Henderson.

Johnson growled, "Fuck that."

Makepeace sympathized with their frustration. He wanted to shout, to rant at the computer, but Henderson had been right about the dangers involved. Varayimshaeta's own memories told him that much. He put up his hand to keep his men still.

"Look, Vara, I'm sorry you're all alone here, but we can't stay forever," he said in his most reasonable tone of voice.

"Of course you can," Varayimshaeta replied, sounding strangely airy.

Once more, Makepeace could think of nothing to say. This was worse than he'd imagined. He exchanged a near frantic look with his teammates, and was perversely relieved to see that they appeared just as unnerved as he felt. "No, we can't," he insisted. "We need to go home."

"Why? My World will soon suit you."

Makepeace was so startled by that statement that his "What?" was out of his mouth before he could stop it.

"I have completed my analysis of your genetics, biochemistry, and physiology, as well as the various parasitic and symbiotic organisms your bodies carry. I have gene bank stores of all the World's indigenous lifeforms at the time of the Purification, save one. Many are compatible with your species and are being re-seeded by my servitors. Those that are dangerous to you will not be reestablished. The World will live again. I believe you will find it a most pleasant place."

"So that's what those globes were doing out in the rain," Johnson murmured under his breath. "They're working the fucking fields."

Makepeace gave him a sharp glance to shut him up, then turned his attention back to the light column. "You're tailoring your planet for us?"

"It is a simple matter. You shall want for nothing."

"It sounds like it's going to build the frigging Garden of Eden for us," Andrews muttered.

Makepeace shook his head in horrified wonder. That was exactly what it sounded like.

Henderson had been looking thoughtful during the last exchange. Now he asked, "If you can do all that, Vara, why are you all alone here? Why not bring back your own people?"

There was a pause, as though the computer hesitated revealing some dark truth. Then it said, "The People did not permit their own genetic patterns to be stored or tampered with. Those patterns were forbidden by law. They also feared the beings beyond the darkness might somehow gain access to them."

"They were that paranoid?" Makepeace asked. The foreign memories within him crowded to the surface, confirming that very fact. He rubbed one temple, attempting to banish them, and the alien thoughts obligingly receded. "Paranoid as well as xenophobic. Whoever dropped the Stargate off on this planet really screwed things up here."

There was a short silence. Makepeace didn't feel inclined to continue the chat, and Henderson stepped into the conversational void. "Vara," he said, "there's really no point. Our lives aren't as long as yours. We'll die eventually, and you'll be alone again."

"It is true your species is short-lived. However, lifespan will not be an issue."

"How so?"

Henderson sounded genuinely curious, Makepeace reflected sourly. It was necessary to gather as much information as possible—who knew what tidbit might be useful and provide the seed for an escape plan—but damn it to hell, did he have to be so enthusiastic?

The AI answered, "Because we will establish a human colony on this planet. My World will again have an intelligent species to continue the legacy of my People."

Henderson shot an unreadable glance at his teammates. "Uh, Vara, you may not be aware of this, but our species has two genders. The four of us, uh, we're all the same gender. We can't reproduce."

"Gender is irrelevant. The People did extensive research into genetics and molecular biology."

Henderson blinked. "You mean you're going to clone us? Just the four of us? Won't that get boring?"

Boring? Was that Henderson's only argument against Varayimshaeta's plan? Makepeace wondered. Jesus, he could come up with a zillion reasons why it was a bad idea. They were emotionally based, of course, but Varayimshaeta wasn't acting like the stereotypically logical computer of sci-fi. Rather, it was sounding more and more like the mad scientists found in B-grade horror flicks.

"Straightforward cloning is of limited value and would compound the problem," Varayimshaeta said. "Because it would generate only genetic duplicates and inhibit diversity, its use is contraindicated."

"Then how are you going to create a human colony with only males available?" Henderson asked, again sounding far too curious for Makepeace's taste.

"Within your cells, each of you carries a full complement of human chromosomes, including the X and Y chromosomes that determine gender. It is a simple matter to create females of your species using your X chromosomes and other cellular components."

"Great," Johnson griped nastily. "So we'll get female versions of ourselves. I can't wait."

"No such crude methods will be employed." Varayimshaeta seemed almost eager to answer, like a child showing off its cleverness. "Instead, I will recombine your chromosomes to generate completely new offspring. A large number of permutations will be possible using the chromosomes you four possess."

"So you're going to create children using our genes?" Henderson asked. "They'll be **_our_** children?"

"That is correct."

"Let me get this straight. You can take an unpaired set of Colonel Makepeace's chromosomes and an unpaired set of Lieutenant Johnson's, match them up, and come up with a baby of **_theirs_**?"

"Correct. In that manner, a potentially large number of unique offspring are available."

The four men exchanged appalled glances as the ramifications of that sank in. Johnson looked positively green, Makepeace noticed. He was sure he wasn't looking much better. Henderson **_really_** could have chosen a less aggravating example.

"And you can do that with all of us?" Henderson went on.

"Correct. Additionally, I shall break down your chromosomes into constituent parts, and recombine the individual, overlapping, and linked genes, as well as structural and regulatory components, to construct completely new chromosomes."

"How do you do that?"

Instead of English, the room filled with strange, semi-discordant music. It ebbed and flowed for a few minutes, then fell silent.

"What the hell?" Andrews said.

Henderson said thoughtfully, "I think it just explained the process in its own language. It doesn't have the vocabulary in English to express the technical concepts, because Colonel Makepeace doesn't know much about molecular genetics."

Makepeace said, "Make that 'doesn't know **_shit_** about molecular genetics'."

Nodding patiently, Henderson returned his attention to Varayimshaeta and tried to poke holes in its plan. "Humans require more than just their genetic structures," he stated. "For example, we get mitochondria from the mother—uh, the female. They come along with the ovum cell, and they have their own chromosomes. The genes from the male play no part in that."

"I have run all necessary biochemical, cellular, and physiological simulations, and have complete understanding of your biological processes. It will be possible to harvest the required structures from your existing cells."

Henderson swallowed. "You can simulate every chemical reaction in our cells? That's hundreds of thousands of reactions per cell every second. How far can you take that?"

"I can simulate the entire life cycle of one of your species, as well as that of entire populations, at a molecular level, with variations in phenotype as determined by environmental conditions."

Shock showed on Henderson's face. Makepeace licked his lips and said cautiously, "That's an impressive amount of computing power." He didn't want to even attempt to calculate what was required—it was ungodly, terrifying. Earth computers couldn't even begin to duplicate such a feat.

"Such large-scale simulations require a significant fraction of my attention. However, I assure you that I am more than able to perform my regular functions at all times."

"Uh, huh. Okay. That's good." It occurred to Makepeace that this AI would have to have awesome computing capabilities, just to perform its ordinary, day to day activities.

Henderson took a deep breath. "Vara, I believe you're capable of generating, um, our children. But you can't just create them by the dozen, or make them full grown. Humans are social creatures," he argued. "If they're not raised by older humans, taught how to behave, they end up dysfunctional."

"Yes, I understand this," Varayimshaeta's eerie chorus of voices replied. "The seeds of that knowledge were in Colonel Makepeace's mind. Do not be concerned. I shall make certain you are not overwhelmed by the offspring."

"It wants us to raise its kids?" Andrews asked. He turned to Makepeace. "Jesus, it got the idea for all this B.S. from you, Colonel? Just how much do you know about biology, sir?"

Makepeace made a face. "Not much. I took some biology back in college, but that was over twenty years ago and I thought I'd forgotten it all. Evidently, I've still got enough of the basics up here"—he tapped the side of his head—"to give Vara a starting point."

"With all due respect, Colonel, this is way, way more sophisticated than some outdated introductory biology classes," Henderson said. "It scanned your body when it was 'repairing' you. It must've gotten everything it needed then."

Varayimshaeta stated, "I anticipate the arrival of more of your people soon. Their genetic material will add to the diversity and strengthen the colony."

"More of us?" Andrews asked. "Soon?"

Makepeace replied impatiently, "General Hammond's going to start worrying in a week or so." His men looked grim at that statement. The SGC's usual procedure was to send out a search and rescue party to check on an overdue team. Makepeace looked up at one particular crystal in the ceiling. "Vara knows everything I know," he said tonelessly. "It's going to draft the rescue party into its little repopulation scheme. Isn't that right, Vara?"

"That is correct."

Johnson shook his head in denial. "I do not believe this. This is not happening."

Varayimshaeta said, "When the population has grown to sufficient size, envoys can be sent out through the Chenvwathd Gateway to invite others of your kind to live here. This will create enough genetic diversity for your species to stabilize and become fully established, so technological intervention will no longer be required for continued successful reproduction. I gained from Colonel Makepeace's mind the addresses for many easily accessible planets with human populations. In time, your species will rule this planet, as my People did before the Great Death and the Purification. The World will return to its former glory."

There was a pause, then Varayimshaeta said, "You will spawn a new civilization. You should be pleased."

 


	15. Chapter 15

They weren't particularly pleased.

However, neither reasoned arguments nor outright cajolery could dissuade Varayimshaeta from its plan to repopulate its planet with an intelligent species. The interview ended shortly thereafter, and SG-3 was escorted back to the elevator room then left to their own devices. Of course, none of the doors could be opened but the elevator, so the Marines settled for returning to their suite.

Makepeace wasn't surprised to see that the kitchen had been cleaned up and the dishes put away. His bed was self-making, so why shouldn't the rest of the place be self-cleaning? From the lack of commentary, he gathered that his men had already witnessed the phenomenon. Not too surprising, since they'd been living in these quarters longer than he had—and unlike him they'd managed to stay conscious.

In his childhood he'd read fairy tales that included mysterious, magical abodes with invisible servants. Had Varayimshaeta modeled their quarters on those stories, or was this the way its people had lived while they still ruled this world?

The question wasn't trivial. If only he could figure out how the computer thought, what patterns its reasoning processes followed... But so far it eluded human rationality and common sense.

Frustrated, he paced from one end of the common room to another, grinding his teeth and unable to think of a way out of this fix. Varayimshaeta had everything covered; they were completely at its mercy. He hated feeling helpless with such a burning intensity that his hatred of Varayimshaeta's plan came in a distant second. As he stalked back and forth he discarded one wild scheme after another, not noticing how quiet his teammates became as his temper grew more and more frayed.

On Makepeace's fifth trip across the room, Andrews started humming the tune to Paul Anka's "Having My Baby."

"Secure that, Gunnery Sergeant!" Makepeace snarled, almost simultaneously with Johnson's strident "Shut up!" and Henderson's weary and embarrassed "Give it a rest, Mike."

Looking oddly satisfied, Andrews dropped onto a couch and lounged comfortably. He didn't say a word.

Makepeace glared at him, but the man didn't even have the grace to squirm. Andrews always knew how far he could push things, and had an uncanny knack for breaking tension and demolishing stonewalls—a most useful trait when times got tough and tempers ran high. Like now. Makepeace bowed to his sergeant's wisdom and turned to Johnson. "No offense, Lieutenant, but I don't particularly want to have your baby."

Johnson looked pained, but after a moment a smile ghosted across his lips. "The feeling's mutual, sir." He slanted an evil glance at Henderson, who fidgeted at the scrutiny.

"Can I assume that no one is interested in founding a colony here?" Makepeace asked. "Especially the way Vara has in mind?"

His teammates all grumped out affirmative replies.

"All right then," he continued, "does anyone have any ideas?" He didn't really expect an answer; there didn't seem to be any options. Or maybe he was just too tired to see them.

"We need more information," Henderson said. He stared down at his tightly clasped hands. "We need to find out more about Vara and this place. I've been thinking—"

"I'm sure you were," Andrews sniped.

Henderson ignored him. He unclasped his hands, rubbed them on his trousers, and addressed his next remarks directly to Makepeace. "I want to talk with Vara, Colonel, let it do that whole information exchange it was talking about and—"

"Are you fucking crazy?" Johnson snapped, bolting out of his chair and coming to loom over Henderson.

Shocked, Makepeace stared at his subordinate and wondered the same thing.

"Oh, come on. You know someone has to try," Henderson said. His voice sounded tight. "There's too big a gulf between us and Vara. It doesn't have even the slightest comprehension why we object to what it wants to do. An exchange might be the only way to get through to it. Someone's got to do it."

"After what that thing did to the colonel?" Johnson said. "No fucking way."

On those words, both men shut up and glanced nervously at Makepeace. Andrews stared at his feet. Makepeace just gazed back at them, knowing he wasn't the most unbiased judge in this decision. He'd wanted ideas. He just hadn't considered that any of his men would come up with such a stupid scheme.

Swallowing, Henderson ventured, "Sir, what happened to you— Vara said it didn't have its equipment calibrated correctly for our brains. Now that it's got a physical scan..." He picked at his thumbnail. "Anyway, sir, it should be safe—safer—now. And maybe with the brain scan adjusted, I'll be able to retain more information than you did."

Makepeace said slowly, "What makes you think Vara will even consent to another of these 'exchanges'?"

Henderson looked up, startled, like he hadn't even considered that possibility. He shrugged a concession. "Maybe it won't, but it seems to like us—"

Johnson snorted. "Yeah, a little too much."

"—and there's no harm in asking it," he continued, glaring at the lieutenant. "At worst, it'll say no."

"No, that's the best case," Andrews put in. "At worst, it'll say **_yes_.** I can't believe you want to try it."

"You wanna learn more about medicine, Junior, go back to med school," Johnson growled. "Not volunteer to get your brains scrambled."

"You know this isn't the same thing, Lieutenant," Henderson snapped. "I'd like a look at that thing's knowledge base, yes. You should, too. That's what we're out here for, right?" Johnson didn't answer. Henderson appealed to Makepeace. "I've got the best general science background here, so there's a good chance I'll be able to hang on to some of that data." He took a breath, then added quietly, "Besides, sir, I just want us to get out of here and go home, and this looks like it might be our best shot."

Makepeace closed his eyes. Dispassionately, he thought that Henderson was probably right. This might be the only way to get through to the damned AI, and if Henderson could retain even a fraction of Vara's scientific and technological knowledge... Wasn't that worth the risk? Varayimshaeta had claimed that what had happened to Makepeace had been a mistake, that it had been corrected, but what if it hadn't? What if the process simply wasn't compatible with human physiology, no matter how much Varayimshaeta tinkered with it? And yet, if it was...

In spite of the comfortable room temperature, he felt cold. I can't believe I'm even considering this idiocy, he thought, appalled at himself. He realized that Godfrey hadn't put in an appearance to offer any opinions or information, despite the fact that the suite was certainly monitored. Was Varayimshaeta letting them make this decision for themselves, or had it already dismissed the idea out of hand? Did he really want to find out?

He rubbed the back of his neck to ease the tension there. His men all froze, staring at him.

It took him a moment to figure out what their problem was. Terrific. They probably figured he was about to have another seizure or something. Not too surprising, considering the topic of conversation. He noticed that Henderson looked even more worried than the others, to the point of appearing ill. Makepeace had to repress a nasty smile at that. Still think Vara's little brain exchange is a good idea, Tommy boy? he thought cynically.

It really wasn't very nice to be amused by his teammate's discomfort. And to judge by the expressions Johnson and Andrews were wearing, he was going to endure another round of heavy-handed coddling.

He let out a loud sigh. "Relax, will you? I'm just rubbing my neck. My head's not going to explode."

Johnson looked suspicious, but Andrews flashed him a relieved grin. "Can't blame us for being a little concerned, sir. I'd hate to be stuck cleaning up the mess in here if anything like that happened."

Makepeace stared at him for a moment, then let out a short laugh. "I'll try not to add to your workload." But he was careful not to rub his neck again.

"Well, sir, what do you think?" Henderson asked. He still looked a bit green around the gills.

"About what?" Makepeace said, deliberately obtuse. He couldn't deny the man had balls. It was pretty obvious Henderson didn't really want to do it, yet he had still volunteered. Unfortunately, he was like a dog with an old bone when he got an idea, no matter how bad.

"About my plan?"

"I think it sucks. The answer is no." He held up a hand to forestall the inevitable protest. "Not just yet, anyway. I can't believe we're out of other options." He gave each of his men a hard look. "I know you've already done some exploring, but it wasn't enough. We're going to tear this tower apart, looking for a way out or anything—anything at all—that might be useful? Understood?"

His teammates nodded. They all looked relieved—even Henderson, Makepeace noticed with grim amusement. It couldn't have been an easy thing offering to be the guinea pig like that, especially knowing what he did about what could happen.

Henderson still pressed, though. "And if we come up empty, sir?"

"I might reconsider the idea. But don't get your hopes up."

 


	16. Chapter 16

SG-3's further sweeps of the tower were as much of a bust as their first. In spite of that, Makepeace strictly forbade Henderson from trying Varayimshaeta's brain probe, as his own experiences were still far too fresh in his mind. He was firmly backed in this decision by Johnson and Andrews. This time Henderson didn't even put up a token protest. The matter was dropped.

The days were slightly longer on 3Y5-116, a full day-night cycle lasting a little more than twenty-nine Earth hours. SG-3 passed two more nights in their ever-expanding gilded cage. A variety of entertainments appeared. Newly remodeled rooms held pool and billiard tables, foosball, dart boards, decks of cards, video games, and even a roulette wheel. Makepeace shook his head at that one. That particular game had never appealed to him.

Their dressers were always stocked with fresh, clean clothes, pressed and neatly folded. But like their food, the garments were all merely copies of their BDU's. The sizes were correct, but there was no variety, and there was no way to differentiate Varayimshaeta's duplicates from the originals.

The men spent most their time exploring the increasing number of human habitats, searching for any possibility of escape, any little opening that Varayimshaeta might have overlooked. Their recons always came up empty. During breaks, they watched the servitors tend the newly planted fields, and scared themselves silly with all-too-realistic speculations about their probable future.

"You know," Henderson commented at dinner on their fourth day as pampered pets, "it's possible that Vara's already started its little biology project."

"You had to bring that up, didn't you?" Makepeace said. "I was trying not to think about it." He pushed his food around his plate with his fork. The china pattern was maddeningly familiar, but for the life of him he couldn't place it. He wondered which forgotten corner of his mind Varayimshaeta had dredged it up from. It wasn't his ex's, or his mother's. He didn't own any china anymore—all the good stuff had gone with Joanna after the divorce—and his own, everyday dishes were pretty utilitarian.

"What are you two talking about?" Johnson asked sharply. "I'm sorry, sir, I know it's probably got samples from you, but I ain't volunteered any tissue lately."

"It's had plenty of opportunity to collect genetic material, Lieutenant," Henderson informed him. "Humans shed cells all the time. Dead skin cells here, some hair follicles there... We leave cellular residue on the utensils when we eat and drink."

Johnson carefully set down his crystal goblet and stared at it. "Fuck."

"Not to mention personal hygiene activities—"

"Will you shut up already?"

Andrews pointed out with false cheer, "And you scraped your hand the other day, banging on that door. You probably left lots of nice, fresh cells for Vara's servitors to collect. Let's face it, our keeper could have hundreds of new buns in the oven already and we'd never know a thing about it. Think about that the next time you use the crapper or blow your nose."

Johnson growled.

"That's enough," Makepeace said. "I'm trying to eat, here." Everyone shut up, and dinner was concluded in uncomfortable silence.

3Y5-116's longer days and heavier gravity conspired to drain the men's energy reserves. With the added pressures of being prisoners and worrying about Varayimshaeta's plans, they were starting to get on one another's nerves. In the evenings they burned off some of the stress in the newly added game rooms. They even tried out the swimming pool. The only novelty room they didn't experiment with was the theater, Makepeace reiterating his order that it remain off limits.

In spite of all the available distractions, frequent bouts of bickering erupted into full-blown arguments even more often than was usual for them. However, no one offered to move out into any of the other apartments available. The last thing any of them wanted was to be separated if they could avoid it.

Sometimes Makepeace thought it a pity that no bar ever materialized. Then again, perhaps that was just as well. Alcohol would probably have only exacerbated the situation.

On the plus side, the enforced time off permitted Makepeace to get a little more comfortable in his own skin again. The others stopped treating him like glass. They also all came to the conclusion that his attitudes and behavior were normal. "Well, as normal as possible for a bird colonel," Andrews had commented with studied irreverence.

The dreams didn't return, the alien memories appeared only on demand. He didn't have any more seizures. Makepeace stopped worrying so much that Varayimshaeta had reprogrammed his mind or otherwise screwed up his head. He knew the shrinks and neurologists back home were going to have a field day with him—assuming he ever managed to get back home—but the fear that he wasn't trustworthy, that he was a danger to his men, became just another irritant in the background noise.

 


	17. Chapter 17

A blast of thunder jolted Makepeace awake. He sat up. The bedroom was pitch black. "Godfrey, turn on the lights." The room lightened, but the windows stayed dark and opaque.

Another boom, so loud it rattled the furniture. It sounded like it was right on top of them. Had to be, to get through the building's soundproofing like that. But why the hell would Varayimshaeta start such a violent storm so near? Makepeace got up and groped for his clothes. "Godfrey, let me see out the windows." The windows stayed black.

Makepeace wondered what Varayimshaeta didn't want him to see.

More thunder, even louder this time, if that was possible. Makepeace scowled as he tied his boot laces. It didn't sound quite right, at least not for a natural storm. There was something about its cadence, a familiar quality—almost like an explosion. He was tempted to assume they were under attack.

Someone banged on his door. "Colonel, you awake? Something's up." Johnson's voice.

Makepeace opened the door. "Yeah, I noticed." He joined his men in the common room as another thunderclap made everything rattle. Looking around, he saw the windows here were blacked out as well. He wondered if Varayimshaeta had pulled the blinds throughout the entire complex. Probably.

Henderson was hopping on one leg, pulling on a boot. "I don't think that's thunder."

"Sounds almost like we're being shelled," Andrews commented, looking worried.

"Godfrey wouldn't tell me anything," Makepeace said. "Anyone here got any intel at all?"

"Not much. Godfrey won't talk to us, either." Johnson glared at the blackened windows. "I had the last watch this morning. Right before the windows blacked out, I saw a bright flash and heard the thunder." He looked at Makepeace. "Sir, the sky was clear. It was gray out, pre-dawn, but there weren't any clouds. This can't be a storm. Not a natural one, anyway."

The front door suddenly opened, and six of the golden spheres floated into the room. Godfrey appeared during another crack of thunder. "You will go with the servitors," the hologram told them without any preamble.

"Why?" Andrews asked. "What's going on?"

"You will go with the servitors," Godfrey repeated.

Makepeace asked, "Are we under attack?"

"You will go with the servitors."

"Goddamn computer," Andrews grumbled.

More gold orbs crowded into the room. They surrounded the Marines, and started herding them like sheep. "Looks like the discussion is over," Makepeace said, eyeing the globes nearest him with a scowl.

"No shit, sir. All right, I'm going already," Johnson snapped as two servitors nudged him none too gently from behind.

The spheres hurried SG-3 through the bewildering maze of corridors and elevators, always heading in a downward direction. Makepeace was grimly amused to see that his earlier supposition was correct; all the windows along the route had been darkened to opacity. The building shook at irregular intervals, and here and there jagged cracks showed in the gem-like materials.

At last the men entered a small elevator. After an interminably long ride down, the doors opened, and the spheres forced SG-3 all the way down a long, windowless tunnel that terminated at a thick, vault-like door. Light panels glowed near the ceiling, making the blue-gray walls glitter. Makepeace thought this area might be made from the same material used for the Stargate enclosure. From Varayimshaeta's memories, he knew that stuff had been created to outlast just about anything thrown at it.

As SG-3 approached, the door slowly slid open, making a heavy, grinding noise, and they saw that it was a good ten feet thick. Unlike the tripartite doors throughout the rest of the complex, this one was just one piece, obviously designed for durability rather than esthetics. Just like the door at the Stargate building, Makepeace thought. The men were unceremoniously shoved through the entrance, and the vault door closed behind them with a heavy and final-sounding **_thunk_** _._

"This cannot be good," Makepeace said, eyeing his new surroundings.

They now stood in a luxuriously appointed suite of rooms not unlike their former quarters; however, the blue and green tinted walls here were ominously devoid of windows. The air was clean and fresh-smelling, blown in from vents near the ceiling, and not even the tiniest trace of thunder could be heard or felt. The place radiated impregnability.

"Nope," Andrews agreed. "This is real pretty and all, but I know a bunker when I see one."

"Guess that pretty much clinches the attack theory, then," Henderson said. "But who is it?"

"The SGC?" Johnson ventured. "Maybe they're here to bust us out?"

"They would've started with a routine search party, and they'd land in the same situation we're in, at best." Makepeace frowned. "Besides, I don't think we've been gone long enough for them to start worrying yet," he said slowly. "Unless we've calculated the planet's rotation wrong."

"We're not wrong." Johnson plopped down on the couch and chewed his lower lip. "Sir, we know the Goa'uld attacked this planet before. Do you think they might've come back?"

"That would be a hell of a coincidence," Henderson said. "Would fit our luck on this mission, though."

"It certainly would," Makepeace said with a sigh.

 


	18. Chapter 18

They waited.

Makepeace didn't know if the luxury-bunker suite came with its own virtual butler, but if so no holograms acknowledged SG-3's sporadic queries. The men were left alone, and passed the time in frustrated tedium. They knew that something nasty was happening topside, but could do nothing about it, instead forced to rely on a loony alien machine for its dubious protection.

Unable to escape, they investigated their surroundings, finding food, water, sanitary facilities, sleeping quarters—everything they needed to survive for an extended duration. Andrews wondered aloud why Varayimshaeta hadn't seen fit to include a giant home theater. After all, they could only amuse themselves with dirty jokes for so long. Neither Varayimshaeta nor any holograms deigned to reply.

With nothing better to do, they hit the pantry and made themselves breakfast, then sat around the common room and entertained one another with word games, "No, shit, there I was" stories, and, naturally, dirty jokes.

Hanging out in bunkers always made Makepeace twitchy. His reaction to this luxury model was no different than to the more stark variety. To distract himself, Makepeace made a point of watching the kitchen, waiting to see if—and how—the dishes cleaned themselves. An incredibly raunchy punchline to a story Johnson was telling distracted him for a minute or two, and had him laughing in admiration of the author's imagination. However, when he turned back, the kitchen had been cleaned up—no noise, no fuss. "Damn," he muttered in frustration. "Missed it again."

"Sir?" Henderson asked.

Makepeace gestured at the kitchen. "Missed seeing the dishes do themselves. Just once, I want to see this place clean itself up. Does anyone know how the hell it works?"

Andrews said, with a completely straight face, "Magic pixie dust, sir."

Makepeace stared at him.

"It's our best guess, Colonel," said Johnson, shrugging. "The automation's shy or something. It doesn't seem to like to work when anyone's watching. We've never seen it, either, and we've tried."

"Everything stays messy until you give up paying attention," said Andrews. "Then next time you look, it's all cleaned up. So, I figure it's the good fairies."

Makepeace said, "I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am that I asked," and settled down for a nice, long sulk.

 


	19. Chapter 19

Makepeace contemplated his fingernails. It felt like hours had passed. In the utter isolation of the windowless bunker, without anything other than body rhythms to use as a timepiece, it was impossible to tell how much time he and his men had spent down here. How many times did he use the toilet, and was he tired or hungry only because he was bored? It took a lot of effort to keep himself from pacing the confines of the bunker.

Instead he subdued his restlessness and forced himself to relax on the comfortable sofa. He kept one eye on the plate sitting on the coffee table. A little while ago he had deliberately left a half-eaten energy bar there, just for experiment's sake. Andrews had shaken his head and told him he was wasting his time.

"Contrary to popular myth, sir," the gunnery sergeant had pronounced, "a watched pot **_will_** eventually boil, but no way will this room clean itself up while you're paying attention."

"It's my time to waste," Makepeace had grumped in return. "It's not like I've got anything better to do."

So far, Andrews had been proven right. The food and dirty plate remained as Makepeace had left them, crumbs and all. It really was irritating.

Or you're just that damn bored, taunted an unpleasant little voice in his head.

Everyone was bored, and worried. Requests for information continued to be ignored. Whatever was going on outside had to be bad. Makepeace couldn't help but wonder if it had something to do with them. This planet had been barren for thousands of years before their arrival. Now it was under attack. Coincidence? Nope, his credulity didn't stretch that far. The events had to be related.

The utter boredom led to a conversation Makepeace would have preferred to avoid. Henderson plunked down beside him on the couch. "Sir, I've been thinking—"

"Again?" Makepeace said wearily.

Henderson looked curiously at him.

Makepeace said, "Corporal, the last time you said 'I've been thinking' you came up with the world's dumbest idea."

"Ah." Henderson shifted a little. "Yes, sir. I'm afraid I agree with that assessment. Um, by the way, thank you for thinking it was a dumb idea."

"No problem. We hadn't quite reached that final stage of desperation yet." Makepeace didn't mention that he felt they'd reached it now. It didn't matter; that option wasn't available as long as they were trapped in the bunker. "Besides, I could tell you didn't really want to do it."

"You could?"

"You weren't exactly hard to read."

Henderson scratched his ear. "Yes, sir."

Makepeace put his hands behind his head, leaned against the backrest, and stretched his legs out to rest his feet on the coffee table. "So, what have you been thinking about this time?" He closed his eyes and waited.

"The effects Vara's language probe had on you."

Makepeace's eyes snapped open. He didn't move. "And?"

"Well, the first time Sitala was here, Vara would have needed to understand the Goa'uld language. It probably used that probe on Sitala or one of her subordinates, in order to communicate."

"Yes. So?" Makepeace relaxed again, now that he was sure Henderson didn't intend to scare him with warnings about potential complications.

"In the records Vara showed us, Sitala and her people used human hosts. Now, it's doubtful she let Vara scan her own sacrosanct person..." Makepeace snorted. Henderson grinned and went on, "Anyhow, whoever Vara did scan was likely a human host: either a Jaffa or a minor Goa'uld underling."

Overhearing the conversation, Andrews and Johnson came and joined their teammates. Andrews settled into an armchair and said, "You're wondering why Vara's scan hurt Colonel Makepeace. Vara should have already had a record of the human brain, and known what adjustments to make to its probe."

Johnson remained standing, and folded his arms across his chest. "You think Vara injured him deliberately? Maybe took a little revenge when it thought we were Goa'uld?"

"Actually," Henderson said, "no, I don't think there was any deliberate malice involved. Vara stopped the probe the instant Colonel Makepeace collapsed. I think it was surprised. It must have originally scanned a Goa'uld or a Jaffa, rather than an ordinary human slave. Even if it hurt whoever got scanned, the symbiote would have healed any brain damage fairly quickly. Vara would never have realized its probe was so harmful to humans."

Makepeace grimaced. "Maybe Vara ended up scanning the symbiote's brain, instead."

"Or the two brains somehow shared the load," Henderson said. "Either way, the human host would've been okay, and Vara wouldn't have had a clue that there would be a problem with scanning us. It just assumed we were Goa'uld speaking a different language than before, and followed its own standard procedures."

Andrews said thoughtfully, "Vara must've only been looking for language when it scanned the Goa'uld. Otherwise it would've known immediately that Sitala was a disaster in the making."

"Yeah," Henderson said in agreement. "It's a pretty sure bet that it didn't do any memory exchanges with Sitala or her people. It rectified that mistake with the colonel."

Makepeace winced at that particular memory. "You've been thinking about this for a while, haven't you, Henderson?"

"There isn't much else to do down here, sir." Henderson shrugged. "I thought it might help give us some insight into what makes Vara tick. Not that that seems to matter, at this stage."

"At least we have a theory to put into the official reports when we get home."   Optimist, the little voice in Makepeace's head sneered. Still, a positive attitude was always good for morale, and hope had carried more than one impossible battle in Earth history. Defeatism, on the other hand, only bred defeat.

"I was wondering, sir, if, well, do you have any of Vara's memories about this? Could you confirm the theory?"

Makepeace scowled, but went ahead and searched his unwanted collection of alien memories. He came up empty. "Nada," he said, ignoring the disappointment that flitted across Henderson's face. "Either it didn't take, or Vara didn't consider it important enough to implant in the first place. Those memories are pretty shaky, anyway, you know."

The conversation petered out, and ennui once again became the order of the day. Makepeace resumed his watch on his mess-cum-lure for the housekeeping pixies. The others napped, or snacked, or searched the bunker for the umpteenth time for an exit.

Eventually, the sound of grinding broke the boredom but increased the tension. They all turned to watch as the heavy door slid open. Six of the golden spheres entered. Warily, the men stood up. The servitors encircled them and nudged them toward the door.

"I guess they want us to go with them again, huh?" Johnson said.

"All right, all right, I'm moving, already," Andrews snapped as one over-enthusiastic orb bumped him again and again. "After all this time cooling our heels down here, now they want us to rush? Hurry up and wait, hurry up and wait. Jesus, it's just like the freaking military."

"Colonel?" Johnson said, stubbornly resisting the orbs around him.

"We go with them," Makepeace said with resignation. "It's the only way out of here."

SG-3 stopped arguing with their enigmatic guards and allowed themselves to be herded out the door. Although he knew it would just annoy him, Makepeace couldn't resist looking back at the coffee table. Sure enough, during the distraction created by the spheres, the room had cleaned itself up. The plate and food were gone, the crumbs swept away, the table sparkling clean.

Really, really irritating.

 


	20. Chapter 20

They retraced their steps down the claustrophobic tunnel to the small elevator. The ride was just as long as Makepeace remembered, yet according to the panel they only traveled up one level before exiting. Unlike the bunker, the area here had taken a beating. The ceiling and walls were cracked and crumbling, displaying the glassy green materials within. Dust filtered down from the damage overhead. Chunks of broken jade and shattered emerald littered the floor. Through the damaged walls could be seen bundles of crystalline fibers in a rainbow of colors, running in and out of gold and silver junction boxes and thin peridot sheets. Light pulses flashed along the glistening strands, indicating that despite the damage, the city still lived. For now.

There were no windows, anywhere. By that Makepeace assumed they were still underground. Doors lined the hallway at irregular intervals, many partially open. Their control mechanisms or sensors were broken, as they neither opened further nor closed as the Marines passed by. The artificial lighting flickered, creating a weird strobing effect. The four men kept their eyes on both sides of the hall, peering into the doorways for potential threats. The bombardment seemed to be over, but that might only be temporary, and whoever had attacked the city could have sent in advance troops. The servitors didn't do anything to interfere with SG-3 beyond keeping them moving.

They continued deeper into the damaged city, staying on the same level. Booted feet crunched on jagged, sparkling shards, the remains of spun-glass sculptures and mysterious gemstone objects. In some places entire walls had crumbled, revealing more of the city's glittering guts. Makepeace felt an uncomfortable, niggling sense of familiarity as he stepped over debris and took in the destruction. In the past, in war zones on Earth, he'd ordered such attacks, and been on the receiving end as well. But here he felt something more than the usual fear and horror, something different, something personal.

He'd seen all this before, in his dreams, in his nightmares. In Varayimshaeta's memories. His memories, now.

They turned right and headed along another corridor. At the halfway point, a large doorway on the left stood partially open, the three sections of the door receded not quite all the way into their slots.

Johnson looked past the pointed edges, and stopped in his tracks. He stared, his lips parted, then turned a shocked face to his teammates. "Guys? I think you should take a look in here."

They all crowded to the door. Curiously, the servitors didn't harass or hinder them, instead waiting patiently in the hall.

"Aw, hell," Henderson said softly.

Ice ran down Makepeace's spine when he looked into the amethyst room and saw the six hexagonal columns. Arranged equidistant from one another in a circle, they stretched from the ceiling to the floor. Each column was divided into three parts, with the top and bottom segments made of a polished gold material. The center sections were tanks, filled with clear fluid.

A single, human fetus floated in each tank.

Makepeace set his jaw and forced himself to step inside for a closer look. Aside from the columns, the room was empty, its glassy, violet walls crazed and cloudy with internal damage. Dim, flickering light emanated from smooth jewels in the ceiling. Shadows danced in the silence, giving the chamber a surreal, creepy atmosphere.

Two tanks glowed softly with warm, golden light; the other four were dark. He moved to one that was still lit—he supposed they were incubators, artificial uteruses, gestation tanks, something sci-fi like that—and inspected its occupant.

He flinched when the fetus moved. It clenched its tiny, little fingers into fists, then raised one dainty hand to rest against its mouth and nose. Traceries of veins showed under the translucent skin. An umbilical cord ran from its stomach to the top of the tank, where it disappeared into the equipment. Makepeace forced himself to look closer.

"It's a girl," he murmured. A perfect little girl.

Henderson stood next to him and spoke quietly. "I hate being right."

"Vara's repopulation project." It was a simple statement of fact.

"Yes, sir," Henderson said. "There are three girls and three boys in here. Their development and maturation rates must have been accelerated. They look to be about, oh, maybe seventeen weeks along or so. You can see how small they are."

"And they're ours." They'd have to be.

"Yeah." Henderson drew in a deep breath, let it out in a long, slow exhale. "If Vara followed the plan it explained to us, each of these...babies...probably has genetic material from at least two of us. Maybe all four of us."

Makepeace gazed at the fragile little girl, thinking of his own kids, wondering if they had a new baby sister, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do now.

Henderson said, "Only two girls are still alive, sir. The others—the ones in the dark tanks—are dead. Looks like the equipment lost power."

Makepeace only nodded.

Johnson and Andrews had stayed silent, just walking through the room, looking at the tiny occupants of the tanks. Now they joined Makepeace and Henderson.

Johnson looked upset. "I don't understand. Why wasn't this room protected better? It should have been the safest place in the entire complex. Our bunker didn't even feel the attacks, and yet this room—Jesus, why?"

"Because Vara can easily make more babies," Makepeace said tonelessly.

Johnson and Andrews stared at him, but Henderson nodded his head. "As the only socialized adults available, we're far more valuable," he said. "I know it sounds harsh, but the babies are expendable. We're not. Vara needs us to raise the children it creates."

"That's obscene," Johnson spat.

"It's not really any different back home," Henderson said. "Nature designed things that way all on its own. We just don't like to admit it."

Johnson looked ready to explode. Before he could vent his anger, Andrews broke in. "What are we going to do about these…" he waved a hand at the two lit tanks, "...these children?"

Henderson answered the question. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" Johnson rounded on him. "You son of a bitch—"

Henderson stood his ground. "There's nothing we can do. They're too young to survive on their own. We'll kill them if we remove them from the tanks."

That cold, hard fact solved the dilemma. Makepeace schooled his features into a calm, dispassionate mask that hid his inner turmoil. "You're sure, Corporal?"

"Absolutely, Colonel. They'll die in just a few minutes without some kind of life support system in place. Their lungs won't be able to handle breathing air without mechanical intervention. And even if we had the equipment and specialists available, their bodies simply aren't developed enough to survive very long anyway." He lifted his hands, an unspoken plea for understanding and rationality. "Besides, I don't see any portable intensive care units around here. Do any of you?"

"So we leave them to die, instead?" Johnson asked, subdued.

Makepeace said, "There's no saying we'll live any longer than them, Lieutenant." Johnson looked down at his feet. Makepeace sighed deeply, wishing they'd never set foot in this damned room. He glanced back at the door, where the golden orbs waited. "Look, right now, let's just find out what the servitors want. My guess is we're going to have another chat with Vara. Maybe it'll finally tell us what's going on."

The fetal girl kicked once, twice, then relaxed and drifted peacefully in her artificial womb.

"Let's go," Makepeace said.

 


	21. Chapter 21

The somber group left the lab behind and continued down the long hall. In spite of his gloom, Makepeace couldn't help but smile when the hall ended at yet another of Varayimshaeta's audience chambers. Seemed he'd guessed right, after all. Idly, he wondered if every level contained one of these rooms. No, they were too tall. Some levels would have to be skipped. But they probably appeared with regularity every ten stories or so. He imagined a soaring tower, the highest in the city, with a pillar of vibrant energy stretching from its tip down into this world's deepest recesses, perhaps even into its molten core.

The interior of this chamber looked identical to the other two he'd seen. But the light column pulsed faster than it had before, like a heart overloaded on too much adrenaline. At irregular intervals, electronic flutes fluttered and trilled over the bass beats, then went silent again.

Conspicuously placed in front of the light column's guard rail were SG-3's weapons, ammunition, GDOs, and rucksacks. Their belongings had been arranged in four neat piles.

"Do you guys see what I see?" Andrews asked.

"Oh, yeah," Makepeace said, resisting the urge to just charge up there and arm himself.

Johnson said, "I wonder what's up?"

"I'm sure Vara's going to tell us what it's got in mind. It hasn't been real shy about its plans before."

The servitors floated away and took up positions at the rear of the room. Makepeace eyed them curiously. Their normal behavior was to act as guards, but on this trip they had seemed more like guides. He regarded the pulsing, blue-white light. The source of Varayimshaeta's agitation seemed plain enough to him; the earlier attacks would have upset anyone. Now, though, things were calm. There had been no explosions since SG-3 had been released from the bunker. Makepeace wanted to know why the attack had ceased, and who was responsible for it. He expected that Varyimshaeta would explain. Why else would the AI bring them here?

He wasn't disappointed. Electronic warbling filled the air, rising and falling like a dying, mournful wind. The sounds faded into silence, then Varayimshaeta spoke in English. "You must leave."

This was unexpected, although the sight of their gear in the room should have given him some warning. Makepeace mistrusted Varayimshaeta's motives. Until now, it had done everything in its considerable power to keep SG-3 on its premises. Now it was just kicking them out?

"About damn time," Johnson muttered.

Makepeace shushed him, then asked, "Vara, what's going on?"

As an answer, two hexagonal viewscreens formed in the air to the right of the light column. On the left one Makepeace saw the image of a Goa'uld pyramid ship settled on the planet's surface. Sitala's face appeared on the other viewscreen. She spoke in Goa'uld.

"I have got to take the time to learn that damned language," Makepeace mumbled under his breath. He'd make it a priority if—when—they got back to Earth. Then he heard Sitala utter the word "Tau'ri" and his blood turned to ice water.

"What's this all about, Vara?" he asked quietly.

Varayimshaeta said, "Yesterday, Sitala returned with her voidship and laid siege to this enclosure. She has demanded control of my World, and that you four be placed in her custody. To demonstrate her resolve, she has repeatedly attacked this access point with energy weapons."

Makepeace said, "So you locked us in that bunker to hide us from the Goa'uld, as well as protect us from the attack."

"Yes." The word reverberated through the chamber, echoing off the milky crystal walls. "But that precaution was too late. Sitala already knew you were here. She has given me one hour to comply with her demands. Upon my failure to do so, she will renew the assault."

Makepeace grimaced. He knew why they were so valuable to Varayimshaeta. He also knew he didn't want to become Sitala's prisoner. Death was literally the best he and his men could hope for from her.

"Why did she happen to come back now? None of us believe in coincidences that big," Andrews said. "And just how did she even find out about us?"

"There was no coincidence," Varayimshaeta said. "After her virus was eradicated from this world, Sitala placed surveillance devices at the Chenvwathd Gateway and the Zand-Faylakk road system." Two more viewscreens appeared in midair, on the left side of the light column. One showed a cylindrical object of burnished gold next to the Stargate, the other displayed another of the devices between the two yellow roads.

"Oh, hell," Andrews groaned. "It's the giant dildos."

Henderson said, "The one by the Stargate was inactive. We didn't get any power readings from it at all."

"More to the point, Vara," said Makepeace, "why did you leave those things alone? Why didn't you remove them as soon as you detected them?"

All the hexagon displays vanished. Varayimshaeta said, "Until the attack, I was unaware of their presence. Sitala's devices have no internal power sources to distinguish them from normal background radiation."

Makepeace nodded in understanding. "Unlike our MALP." Typically, the MALPs remained electrically active, to investigate a new planet for environmental hazards and for signs of inhabitants.

"Correct. Intensive diagnostic scans revealed that Sitala's devices were designed to be powered by large energy surges in the immediate environment. When such an energy surge occurred, the device would activate, scan the area, and transmit a compressed signal out into the void. The devices then discharged any remaining power to place themselves back into an inert state. Power fluctuations from the activation of the Chenvwathd Gateway and the Zand-Faylakk road system disguised their periods of activity."

Henderson said, "That's why you didn't know about them before. The Goa'uld must've dropped off the one by the road as they were leaving this planet the first time. And then they just came back through the Stargate and set up the second one inside the sealed dome enclosure. It might have activated when they left again, but the Stargate's own energy masked it from you."

Varayinshaeta said, "When Sitala returned and demanded you four be delivered to her, it was clear that she had somehow detected your presence here. More intensive scanning and environmental analyses revealed the devices."

"Translation," Andrews said dryly, "you went looking for bugs."

"The devices have now been rendered inoperative."

"A little late for that," Johnson muttered.

The light column pulsed even faster. "The time Sitala allotted this cease-fire is almost at an end. You must leave now."

Makepeace didn't know what Varayimshaeta had in mind. The area around this city was certain to be a war zone, probably swarming with Jaffa, death gliders, and who knew what other war machines. SG-3 could try to fight, but the odds against them were overwhelming. They were at least a hundred miles away from the Stargate by his estimate, so there was no way they could make a run for it.

Another unpleasant option came to him. "Are you handing us over to her?"

"No!" The word boomed out, an atonal maelstrom that vibrated the air. The light globes overhead paused in their orbits, then resumed their eternal circling. Whispers of sound swirled through the room like blowing leaves.

Makepeace figured he'd actually managed to insult the machine. He remembered that it had loved its people, in its own, alien way. Since it had planned to repopulate its planet with SG-3's genetic descendants, it might very well feel a similar attachment to them. A mind-boggling idea, but it fit with Varayimshaeta's outraged reaction.

"Then where do you expect us to go?" he asked. "We can't make it through Sitala's forces and get back to the Stargate on our own."

"You will return to the Chenvwathd Enclosure as you came."

"You're sending us back on your train?" Makepeace scowled. "I would have expected Sitala to destroy the roads out of here, to cut off those escape routes. It's what I would have done."

"The Zand-Faylakk road system was damaged and deactivated," Varayimshaeta confirmed. "Repairs have been effected. The road system shall remain deactivated until you are ready to depart."

"You hope that'll fool Sitala into thinking it's still not working."

"Correct. Please collect your weapons and belongings."

"Please, it says," Andrews muttered. "Couldn't have asked nicely before, could it? What a time to learn some manners."

Makepeace walked forward, gesturing at his men to get their stuff. He picked up his M4 carbine and grenade launcher. The weapon nestled comfortably in his arm like the old friend it was. He checked it. Fully loaded, ready to rumble. He strapped on a GDO, and hefted his rucksack. It felt too light.

A quick inspection revealed that Varayimshaeta had included only the bare minimum of supplies: loaded magazines, grenades, two canteens, and a handful of energy bars. Makepeace didn't complain; he'd have made the same choices. No matter what happened, they'd need to move fast and travel light. For the same reason, he didn't ask about the missing FRED. He gnawed his cheek at this further evidence of his mental violation, but kept his mouth shut. In this situation, Varayimshaeta's extra knowledge was an advantage.

SG-3 geared up quickly. Makepeace asked, "What next, Vara?"

"The servitors will escort you to the debarkation platform. You will board the transport. The road system will be reactivated, and you will depart."

Andrews snorted in derision. "And Sitala's death gliders will blow the train clean off the road."

"Your departure will be protected."

Makepeace thought back to SG-3's first encounter with Varayimshaeta's servitors. The frightening weather, the tornado, the sound stunners. Those things might have limited effectiveness against a Goa'uld warship, but his implanted memories told him Varayimshaeta was capable of much, much more. Mother Nature had nothing on this alien creation.

"Vara, you control the entire planet," he said. "Why haven't you destroyed the Goa'uld, or at least chased them away like before?"

"Such action would eradicate all life on the World. The taint of Sitala cannot be cleansed until you have departed."

So. The bunker wouldn't have protected them from another radiation outflow. "Then...thanks for holding off on the big guns," Makepeace said, grateful for Varayimshaeta's concern for their lives.

"Sitala will be removed. The Goa'uld will not be permitted to ever return here again. The World will be purified, and made safe for all time." The words resounded, echoing off the walls, the floor, the ceiling. The air throbbed with the machine's implacable wrath.

Andrews whispered to Makepeace, "That sounds ominous. We'd better hurry this along, sir."

Varayimshaeta said, "You will go with the servitors. Now." The chorus of electronic voices had lost virtually all synchronization, becoming almost incomprehensible. The light globes flashed urgently.

The pillar of light flared with blinding incandescence. Makepeace threw his arms over his face, shielding his eyes from the brilliance. The terrible, unbearable illumination lasted only a few seconds, then the light dimmed. Makepeace lowered his hands.

Varayimshaeta's light column was gone.

"Shit," said Andrews.

Makepeace stared at the vacant space inside the guard rails, at the empty aperture in the arching ceiling. The light globes hung motionless in the still air. An oppressive silence weighed down on him like a smothering blanket.

"This cannot be good," Henderson said.

Makepeace agreed with that assessment. Six spheres floated forward and surrounded the men. Makepeace wasn't inclined to argue with them. "Move out," he told his team. "We need to hustle."

"Wait," Johnson said, stubbornly refusing to budge. "Colonel, what about the babies?"

Makepeace drew in a long, resigned breath and exhaled it slowly. He'd already made his decision on this subject. "Johnson, you heard what Henderson said about them. They're too young. We can't remove them from the tanks without killing them. They're dead no matter what."

"No, sir, I can't believe that. Vara's got to have some way, some technology we can use to transport them." Johnson turned and yelled at the front of the chamber, "Vara! Vara, answer me, damn it!"

"Johnson!" Makepeace grabbed the lieutenant's arm, forced Johnson to face him.

"Colonel, they're **_babies_.** They're **_our_** babies."

"Daryl," Makepeace said softly. He shook his head, allowing Johnson to see his own regret, and his resolve.

An expression of utter grief crossed Johnson's face.

Makepeace said, "We have to go now."

Johnson nodded, wordless.

Guided by the servitors, SG-3 departed the audience chamber.

 


	22. Chapter 22

They had to run to keep up with the servitors.  Johnson slowed down a little as they passed by the gestation lab, and Makepeace touched his arm.  Johnson looked sad and nodded, but sped up again.

Makepeace wondered if Johnson would ever forgive him.

They raced through a seemingly endless maze of corridors and elevators. No one wasted any breath on conversation.  Makepeace pondered just how deeply Varayimshaeta had sequestered them inside its complex. From the distance they were traveling, they'd been pretty far in.  He hoped they'd make it to the train platform before Sitala's deadline.  Based on the way the servitors were rushing them, he figured they didn't have much time left.

That thought had barely crossed his mind when a boom shook the passageways.  Glittering powder cascaded down from new cracks in the ceiling.  Makepeace staggered, caught his balance, and took stock of his men. All okay, if looking a bit rattled. The globes hovered, bobbing up and down, as though they were impatient, or nervous.  Did the servitors even have that much awareness?

"Keep moving," he said, and the group took off again.

More blasts rocked the city.  It felt like the very foundations lurched and shimmied, while overhead the ceiling split open.  "Take cover!" Makepeace shouted to his team as he dropped to the floor and curled up, protecting the back of his head and neck with his hands. Chunks of masonry rained down around them.  The explosions, the devastation, the chaos—it was all just like the last time. When everyone had died, and Sitala's Jaffa had marched across the World, destroying buildings out of sheer spite.  He gasped as the memories hit him, forcing him to witness the chaos of the subsequent attacks, to feel Varayimshaeta's shock and horror and confusion.  "Damn it, not now!" he yelled, ready to throw a fit at the bad timing.

Just like that, the flashback ended, leaving him in the real world, with a real building falling in on him, hearing the real shouts of his men as the hallway collapsed.

And then the building stopped shaking, the fall of debris ceased.

Cautiously, Makepeace rose onto his knees and looked up.  The servitors hovered above him and his men, arranged in a perfect hexagon.  A jumble of fractured masonry floated in midair between them.

All the men stared at it, speechless.  Then Andrews got to his feet and gave Makepeace a hand up. The gunnery sergeant said, "Guess Vara's still looking out for us, sir."

"Guess so," Makepeace said. The servitors moved about sixty feet back and dropped their burden. The wreckage hit the ground with a deafening crash. A dust cloud rose into the air.

Andrews watched the proceedings with a jaundiced eye. "Damn shame Vara doesn't seem to have any industrial strength versions of those force fields to protect itself."

Makepeace couldn't help but agree, but the plain and brutal fact was that Varayimshaeta didn't possess anything so useful for this situation. "The people who created it didn't feel the need."

"Morons." Disgust and bitterness dripped from Johnson's voice.

The bombardment resumed, although Sitala's forces were now shelling areas farther away.   Makepeace heard thunder, but it was quieter than before and the corridor barely trembled. The servitors zipped up to SG-3 and orbited around them like overexcited puppies, silently urging them to move on.

Wreckage dominated the once pristine hallways. Jade and emerald rubble littered the cracked floor, glassy cables dangled from gaping holes in the ceiling. Spider webs of fine lines marred windows that Varayimshaeta still managed to keep opaque. SG-3 had to slow down to navigate through the ruins.

"This is a regular obstacle course," Andrews griped as he carefully ducked around a collapsed wall.

The structure rumbled as faint booms reminded everyone that the attack continued. At least Sitala didn't know where they were; from the distant sounds, Makepeace thought she was concentrating her fire on the opposite side of the city.

At last, they approached the great, arching entrance to the train platform. Makepeace looked through the doorway. "Oh, fuck," he groaned.

Inside, the debarkation platform had been completely destroyed. The cylindrical train had split into two pieces that lay cross-ways across both yellow roads. Makepeace cautiously picked his way farther into the chamber and peered down the tunnel. He could see daylight.

A fiery bolt of energy shot through the room and exploded against a wall. Makepeace dived behind a large, upended chunk of the ruined platform. "Take cover!" he yelled, even as his men all scrambled for protection.

Two Jaffa emerged from behind the train, blasting away with their staff weapons. Makepeace popped up over the edge of his shelter, aimed his carbine at the nearest Jaffa and squeezed off a few bursts. He ducked back down as another energy bolt answered his fire.

More Jaffa appeared, advancing up through the tunnel, using the abundant wreckage to cover their forward progress. For a few crazy moments, SG-3 exchanged fire with Sitala’s troops. Then the servitors moved right into the center of the action. They spread out in a line that spanned the room. Makepeace felt a terrible thump and a wave of dizziness pass through him. Reeling, he clenched his eyes shut and hunkered down, leaning hard against the cool jade as he fought nausea.

Then the feeling passed, and silence filled the room. Makepeace cautiously peeked over the edge of his protective barrier. The Jaffa had all collapsed, unconscious.

Johnson low-crawled to Makepeace's position. Looking a little green, the lieutenant said, "Nice to know they can direct those sound weapons of theirs."

"I wish they'd been more focused. We caught some of the backlash," Makepeace said, watching for more enemies as Andrews and Henderson swiftly joined them.

"At least we're still conscious, sir," said Johnson.

"Point taken." Makepeace nodded at the tunnel. "If Sitala didn't know where we were before, she does now. We need to find a different way out."

"Where will we go? The whole area's got to be crawling with Jaffa."

"We'll just have to fight."

Johnson gave him an incredulous look. "Colonel, you don't honestly think we can take on a Goa'uld pyramid ship and an army of Jaffa with a few rifles and grenades, do you?"

"No." Wearily, Makepeace shook his head. "But I don't want to die in here when this fancy birdcage finally falls apart, and I don't want to become a Goa'uld prisoner, either."

"Fuckin' A," Andrews agreed grimly. "Maybe we can send a few of those bastards to Hell before we check ourselves out."

Henderson's eyes widened at Andrews's suggestion, then his expression firmed and he nodded slowly. "It's better than being snaked, or whatever else Sitala's got planned for us."

Makepeace exchanged a resolute look with Johnson, and heaved out a harsh breath.  They had all always known this possibility existed, given the way the Goa'uld operated.  SG-3 was on its own, cut off from any means of escape.  The Stargate was at least a hundred miles away.  There was zero possibility for reinforcements from the SGC, or for rescue from the Goa'uld.

There weren't any options left, but that didn't make an ugly, worst case plan any more palatable.

A staff blast erupted from the tunnel, then another, and another. One of the golden spheres exploded in a blinding flash of light. The others returned to SG-3. Makepeace looked at them. "We need another way out of here," he said, hoping they understood.

The servitors took off through the doorway. Makepeace said to his men, "Follow them," and ran after the spheres.

They made it into the corridor and started down another branch. Ear-splitting thunder rent the air, making the building sway and creak as metal and masonry twisted out of shape. Another explosion, and chunks of the ceiling and walls bounced on the floor.

"Colonel!" Johnson yelled.

Makepeace turned, just as an entire section of the hall came down in a terrifying avalanche of jade and emerald. He saw Henderson push Johnson to one side. Dust clogged the air, and Makepeace had to dodge the falling debris. When the walls stopped falling and the dust settled, he slowly straightened from his protective crouch.

Henderson and Johnson were gone.

"No," Makepeace whispered.

Andrews gaped beside him. "Were they buried?" he asked softly.

"Maybe they're just cut off."

"Should we try to get to them?"

Another staff blast ripped through the hallway, answering that question. Makepeace howled, "God damn it!" and fired back at the Jaffa. The five servitors lined up, putting themselves between the Jaffa and the two Marines. "Holy—" Makepeace said. "Andrews, down!"

Again Makepeace felt the stomach-wrenching thump and dizziness, harder than before.

"We were closer this time," Andrews gasped, then he leaned away and vomited.

Makepeace managed to keep himself from throwing up, but only just barely. "At least the Jaffa are down." The servitors returned, and he said to them, "We have to get my other two men. Can you dig through that?"

The servitors bobbed and circled. Makepeace wondered if they really understood, or were just acting on preprogrammed orders from Varayimshaeta. Without much hope, he pointed at the fallen wall blocking the passage and asked, "Is there a way around that mess?"

The servitors flitted through another side hall. Makepeace and Andrews chased after them. It was a circuitous route that followed a ramp slanting upwards. Then down another corridor, and another. Both men were coughing from all the dust in the air. Makepeace's eyes streamed tears, yet paradoxically felt dry and gritty. He had to keep blinking to clear the gunk from his vision.

They came to another open doorway. Makepeace stared at it, then rage took him and he hurled the vilest curses he knew at Varayimshaeta's servitors, in English, Spanish, and Farsi.

Instead of to Johnson and Henderson, the servitors had led Makepeace and Andrews out of the city.

 

 


	23. Chapter 23

The servitors flew off, abandoning the two Marines near the crest of a tall hill. Makepeace stared after them as they rose up over a broken spire and vanished from sight. "They left," he said. Why not? The servitors had already left Johnson and Henderson for dead in the ruined city. Now he and Andrews had been left to face Sitala's forces.

Andrews said, "So they did. I guess this means we're on our own, now." He sounded like he hadn't expected any better.

Makepeace had hoped for better, although the wrecked train platform had put a serious dent in the miniscule amount of optimism he had left. "Maybe they went back after Johnson and Henderson."

Andrews gave him an "I can't believe you're really that naïve" look, but didn't say anything.

Makepeace checked out the terrain. Behind them the mountains rose with unforgiving majesty, providing a stark backdrop to the glittering city of emerald. The air reeked of burned cinnamon.

The dirt and rock underfoot sparkled with flecks of mica and shards of green glass. The city's exterior showed terrible damage, its crystal structures broken and charred. The pair of yellow roads at the hill's base looked intact, but without a functioning train they were useless.

About a quarter of a mile away stood Sitala's pyramid ship, gleaming in the harsh sunlight. Its golden angles stood out in stark relief against the brilliant blue sky and smoking landscape. Jaffa on guard duty stalked back and forth, trampling the tender young shoots that Varayimshaeta's servitors had recently cultivated. Several death gliders flew over the city, occasionally strafing it with energy blasts.

"We should get to high ground, Colonel," Andrews said.

Makepeace refrained from pointing out that they were already on high ground. Andrews's instincts were those of a sniper, and he wanted the best vantage point available. Makepeace said only, "Pick a spot."

Bent over to stay low and unobtrusive, Andrews headed farther up the side of another hill. At the top, he sheltered behind a craggy outcropping that provided both good concealment and a sweeping view of the Goa'uld below. Makepeace followed, looking over the edge. The downwards slope fell away sharply, almost like a cliff.

They settled in among the rocks, readying their weapons, arranging their side arms, spare magazines, and grenades within easy reach. It wasn't a bad place for a last stand, Makepeace thought. Too bad Johnson and Henderson couldn't be here. They'd approve.

He wondered if they were still alive. Surely the servitors would try to rescue them. Wouldn't they? Perhaps they had simply been unable to do anything to help. Makepeace imagined his two men still alive, but crushed and slowly smothering or bleeding out beneath the collapsed walls. He winced, and hoped they'd died quickly, rather than suffer a horrific, lingering death.

Andrews interrupted his morbid thoughts. "So, Colonel, care to take a few pot shots?" He looked very angry, and very ready to kill.

Makepeace grinned, baring his teeth. He looked through the telescopic sight mounted on his carbine, put the crosshairs right on a Jaffa's head.

"I am become death, the destroyer of worlds," Andrews intoned.

"That's Sitala's line."

"Right mythology, wrong god. The line's Shiva's. Oppenheimer used it, too, when the first A-bomb was detonated."

Makepeace smiled more naturally, all the while keeping the Jaffa in his sights. "I'm impressed."

"I took my homework assignment seriously." Andrews swung his rifle around and chose on his own target. "Shall we, Colonel?"

"Fire at will," Makepeace said, pulling back on his own trigger.

Two shots rang out. Two Jaffa dropped in their tracks. The other Jaffa scattered, shouting and bolting for cover. Makepeace and Andrews took advantage of the sudden confusion to pick off a few more.

Sitala's Jaffa started firing back. A series of staff blasts crashed against the Marines' rocky shelter, sending jagged splinters flying. Makepeace loaded a high explosive round into his grenade launcher, took careful aim just to the side of a group of Jaffa sheltering behind a boulder, and fired. The explosion flung rocky debris and shrapnel in a wide radius. Three of the Jaffa fell, the others ran for a better hideout.

Makepeace knew the Goa'uld forces had his and Andrews's position now, but it hardly mattered. They weren't going to get off this planet alive, but they would go down fighting. Makepeace grinned a death's head grin. They'd already made a decent accounting for themselves, and with a little luck they'd take out even more of Sitala's troops before they died.

A death glider zoomed over them, sending down energy blasts to their right. Makepeace raised an arm to shield his head against the onslaught. Pebbles and rock fragments peppered his body with painful little stings, but none did any real damage.

"That was strange," Andrews said, watching the death glider fly off and bank to the left. "I thought that one would get us for sure. They've got to know exactly where we are."

A horrible thought struck Makepeace. "Remember that ultimatum Sitala gave Vara? She wants us alive."

"They missed on purpose? Fuck."

"They're trying to drive us out into the open. We'll just have to make ourselves too much trouble to capture," Makepeace said grimly.

Andrews said, "We've always got another option." He mimed putting a pistol in his mouth and pulling the trigger.

"Maybe. Unless she's got a sarcophagus on that pyramid ship of hers." Makepeace shook his head. "I should have thought of that before."

"Well, if they blow us into itty bitty gooey pieces, I doubt we'll be revivable. We'll just have to push 'em to shoot for real."

Makepeace grimaced at that mental image, but it would be for the best. "Keep shooting, let's make this expensive for them."

The firefight continued, the Marines shooting to kill, and the Jaffa and death gliders aiming weapons in an obvious attempt to flush their quarry out of cover. The battle was punctuated by odd periods of quiet, then would suddenly erupt again.

Makepeace and Andrews took turns firing, giving each the chance to reload when necessary. Another lull had them both staring at one another, trembling from the adrenaline rush and panting for breath, wondering when it would all be over.

"Stop!" a distorted voice rang out. "Stop this at once." The voice then spoke imperiously in the harsh language of the Goa'uld.

The words were amplified and carried over the entire area. The Jaffa stayed behind cover, but stopped shooting. The death gliders sailed away, to circle over the pyramid ship. Makepeace scowled; only one person could have commanded such instant obedience.

Andrews peeked over the outcropping. He frowned, brought up his rifle and peered through the scope. "Well, what do you know? The bitch is back."

"Then let's nail her," Makepeace said. "We both fire, one of us ought to get her, even if her Jaffa do the human shield thing."

Andrews scanned over the area and inhaled sharply. "Colonel, you'd better take a look at the situation," he said, shaken.

Makepeace looked through his telescopic sight. First he focused on Sitala. She looked just as Varayimshaeta's images had shown. Coldly beautiful, dripping with jewelry, clothed in a bright red sari embroidered with gold and gemstones. Her long, raven hair hung to mid-thigh. Strings of gems dangled from her elaborate headdress, twinkling in her unbound tresses.

She gestured to her right. Makepeace swung his rifle in that direction, and froze. Jaffa guards dragged Johnson and Henderson before her. Makepeace stared, hardly breathing. His men looked filthy, and bedraggled, and utterly exhausted, but they were alive. Alive!

His elation faded. "Crap," was all he said as the implications sank in.

"She's got them both," Andrews said, needlessly. He sounded defeated.

"At least they're alive." But they were Sitala's prisoners, and hostages. They must have been trapped on the other side of the collapsed wall, perhaps rendered unconscious by falling debris. Easy pickings.

The guards forced Johnson and Henderson to their knees with their hands clasped behind their heads. Sitala circled them, wearing a predatory smile.

Johnson said something to her. Makepeace couldn't hear the words, but the sneer on Johnson's face was unmistakable. Sitala snapped back in Goa'uld and backhanded him viciously. Henderson caught the lieutenant as he rocked to the side.

Makepeace inhaled, wishing Johnson would keep his yap shut. He stole a glance at his companion. Good thing Andrews and his mouth weren't down there. Sitala probably would have killed him by now.

The Goa'uld bitch turned to face the outcrop sheltering Makepeace and Andrews. Makepeace could have sworn she looked right at them.

"We know your location," she announced into a small device she held in one hand. Makepeace figured it served as both microphone and amplifier, since her voice echoed through the foothills. "You cannot keep fighting us forever."

Andrews muttered, "Now there's a news flash." Makepeace let out a humorless snort.

Sitala continued, "We could easily outlast you, but this pointless battle wearies me. Surrender yourselves, or your two comrades will suffer the consequences."

Typical Goa'uld rhetoric. "Saw that one coming a mile away," Makepeace said.

Sitala's next words turned his blood to ice water. Smiling, she fingered a small, crystal vial that hung from a chain around her neck. "I doubt very much that the usual threats would have much impact," she said. "Your recent actions clearly demonstrate that you have chosen death before capture. But perhaps we can make things more interesting." She removed her necklace and held up the vial. "This container holds the same virus that eradicated the disgusting **_things_** that once populated this world. Certain aspects of human biochemistry are similar to theirs. I assure you, the virus is quite effective on your species."

Andrews went absolutely still. Makepeace felt a coldness growing inside. He believed her. The bitch had probably tested it on human slaves.

Sitala went on, "Naturally, I’ve made sure that I and my troops are immune to this disease. But your two companions, they are vulnerable." Holding the end of the chain, she dangled the vial over Henderson's head. It twisted back and forth, catching the light and sending off prismatic sparkles. Henderson and Johnson stared stoically at the ground, but through his telescopic sight Makepeace could see their tension. Sitala said, "Did the great machine that rules here tell you about me? Did it explain what this virus can do?"

Makepeace knew, all right.  Unbidden, Varayimshaeta's memories bubbled up to the surface, inundating him with the horrors Sitala's virus had inflicted on this world's now extinct population.  He didn't actually **_see_** the natives; he already knew Varayimshaeta had edited out their appearance, leaving blank voids in the brutal imagery.  Instead, visions of humans filled his mind, and that was a surprise.

He saw humans crying, bleeding, suffering.  Men and women and children, dying in sickness and agony, brutalized by Jaffa warriors even as they gasped out their last breaths.  An alien world full of humans, devastated by Sitala's virus and looted by her troops, destroyed by the Goa'uld's arrogant contempt and dismissal of others' lives.

The nightmare rampaged through his head, burning like acid, mirroring his own worst fears about what might one day happen to Earth, to his family and friends.

Shaken, he closed his eyes to concentrate, and with effort managed to shut down this new rush of blended images.  When he had some spare time to kill he'd worry about the way his mind had filled in the blanks, and how it seemed to be merging Varayimshaeta's memories with his own life experiences.

"What do we do now, Colonel?" asked Andrews, fingering his rifle.

Good question. Makepeace hadn't figured that out, yet. It was one thing for him and Andrews to go out in a blaze of glory, and quite another to watch his men die in agony from a particularly vile bioweapon. Stalling for time to think, he called out to the Goa'uld, "What do you want?"

Sitala's eyes flared with unnatural snake-light. "I already told you. I want you to surrender. I want all of you alive."

"Why? I thought the usual M.O. was to shoot Earth humans on sight."

"Not always." Sitala swung the vial on its chain. "My liege, the System Lord Nirrti, wants control of this world's technology, but my actions the last time I was here were a mistake. I should have kept some of those **_things_** alive, no matter how disgusting they were. I believe the great machine within this planet answered only to them. When they were all gone, the machine shut everything down and irradiated the entire planet, making it useless to us. We were never able to wrest its secrets from it. I assure you, this world has been dead for a very long time." She paused, then smiled again, displaying a perfect set of pearly white teeth. "It came back to life when you arrived. I believe it likes you."

Makepeace slumped back against the rock. "Ah, hell."

"She wants to use us as hostages against Vara?" Andrews asked. "Would that even work?"

"I don't know." Makepeace rubbed his temples, then forced himself to return to observing Sitala's horror show.

Sitala's hateful, amplified voice spoke again. "This really isn't a difficult decision. I would prefer to have all four of you, but it isn't necessary. Even if I kill these two," she gestured at her kneeling prisoners, "I will still have you, eventually."

"Not if we shoot ourselves first," Andrews growled softly, glaring through his sight.

"Don't you want to keep your friends alive?" Sitala asked. "I understand you must be quite troubled now. I am magnanimous. I give you five of your minutes to consider your lack of options." Her exquisite lips twisted into a triumphant grin.

"She keeps talking about killing them permanently. No mention of a sarcophagus," Makepeace said. "Maybe she doesn't have one."

Andrews said, "We can't rule it out. It might just be a psych, Colonel. Maybe she'll kill Henderson and the lieutenant with that virus, then capture us while we're rattled, then revive them and trot them out again afterwards. Things could get pretty ugly."

Makepeace sighed. "Yeah. I know."

Andrews eyed his Beretta.  "I don't want to be a Goa'uld prisoner."  He nodded out towards Johnson and Henderson.  "They don't, either."

"I know."  Makepeace heard the defeat and weariness in his voice. Reluctantly, he recalled how everyone had agreed on this one, unforgiving, worst-case course of action before they'd become separated. They all trusted each other with their lives, and their deaths.

"The SGC will be compromised if Sitala snakes us.  She'll know everything we know."  He focused his intent gaze on Makepeace.  "She'll know everything you know about Earth's defenses and military setup.  You know who she works for, Colonel.  Nirrti tried to destroy the SGC before. Earth will be toast.  We can't let that happen—"

"I know!" Makepeace shouted.  Andrews shut up.  Makepeace clenched his teeth and stared hard at the ground.  After a moment he looked up.  "We won't be able to warn the SGC about what's happened here."

"Without one of Vara's super-trains we wouldn't be able to get back to the Stargate, anyway."

True enough.  Not that it mattered; Hammond would follow standard procedure and use a MALP to get the lay of the land before sending a search party through.  The SGC would see the Goa'uld forces, and act accordingly. Makepeace knew he was making an assumption. Varayimshaeta hadn't stated that Sitala had taken control of the Stargate, but Makepeace doubted she'd overlooked such an obvious move.

And then there was another problem.  He said heavily, "You were absolutely correct when you said we can't discount the possibility that Sitala has a sarcophagus."

Andrews just watched him, waiting.

Makepeace tapped the M203 grenade launcher attached to his carbine. "Remember what you said about itty bitty gooey pieces?"

Andrews met his eyes and gave a single nod.

Makepeace glanced over the rock barricade and came to a hard decision. He'd been making a lot of those lately. They all hurt, but at least this one would be the last.

He said, "Head shots, first. Keep it a clean, single shot, so they don't suffer." He loaded a 40mm high explosive round into his grenade launcher. "Then we'll blow the bodies into red mist. Let's see Sitala revive them after that."

Andrews exhaled harshly, but he agreed. "Only problem is, who'll do that for us?"

"I'll do it for you."

Andrews stared long and hard into his eyes. "What about you?"

Makepeace had already worked that out. He picked up an M67 fragmentation grenade, weighing the steel sphere in his hand. "I'll eat a grenade. Body's not much good without a head." The explosion and the shrapnel would shred the rest of him, too. There wouldn't be anything left for the Goa'uld bitch to put back together again.

At Andrews's expression, Makepeace added, "It's not really any different from falling on a grenade." Some soldiers had really done that in the past, though only a very few. It wasn't nearly as common an act as the movies implied, and it had much uglier results.

Andrews knew that, too. He swallowed. "Helluva way to commit suicide." His expression grew resolute. Without another word, he took up a position on the rocks, aiming his rifle down at his friends.

Makepeace readied his own weapons. "You take Henderson." He hesitated briefly. He was a good shot, but Andrews was a superb sniper. "Andrews, if I miss, take care of Johnson, too." Andrews gave a single, sharp nod. Makepeace continued, "When they're down, I'll lob two grenades and finish this." This was going to be so difficult, but he would do it. "Remember, keep it clean."

Andrews didn't shift his attention from his target. "On your mark, Colonel." His words were devoid of emotion, purely professional. His focus was rock steady.

Makepeace sighted carefully through his scope, aligning the crosshairs dead center on Johnson's head. He slowed his breathing, slipping into the calm, detached, Zen-like mental state of an expert marksman. He focused on the beating of his heart as his index finger lightly, ever so lightly, brushed the trigger. He gently pulled it back, until he felt resistance. It would take only the slightest pressure now to fire off the lethal bullet. He would give Andrews the order, then squeeze the trigger between heartbeats, so the tiny movements of his own pulse wouldn't spoil the shot. His breathing slowed even more. He counted three more heartbeats.

A gold blur flashed through his field of view. The shock made him flinch; he instinctively lifted his finger off the trigger. He heard Andrews utter a choice profanity, and knew the gunnery sergeant's aim had also been spoiled. Makepeace took a calculated risk and raised his head above the rock line for a good look.

The five servitors hovered high above Sitala, her Jaffa, and his two men.

 


	24. Chapter 24

"Jesus, those damn things couldn't have gotten here earlier?" Andrews spat out. "What the hell were they doing all this time?"

"Who knows?" Makepeace said, wondering the exact same thing. He'd believed that they and Varayimshaeta had abandoned SG-3, but it seemed he'd been wrong. His gut churned with anger, relief, a thousand other unidentifiable emotions. He clamped down on it with iron control. He'd deal with what he'd almost done later. For now, he kept his attention fixed on the unfolding drama.

Sitala rapped out a frustrated command. Her Jaffa opened fire on the servitors. The golden orbs zipped back and forth, up and down, with irregular, jerky movements. The staff weapons weren't precise enough to hit such difficult targets. As Makepeace watched the spheres dance in the sky, he thought it would take a sophisticated guidance system to bring them down. That or sheer dumb luck.

He looked back down at Johnson and Henderson, hoping the distraction would give them a chance to make a run for it. No such luck. The Jaffa guarding them were too well trained and hadn't been distracted by the impromptu air show.  Instead, they let their comrades do the shooting, and kept their own weapons trained on their two captives.

The servitors rose up into the sky and formed a straight line. The electronic shrilling they emitted got louder and higher with every passing second, until Makepeace ground his fists against his ears in a vain attempt to keep out the knives of sound.

The ground trembled.  Loose dirt and pebbles jittered in time to the high-pitched warbles.  A low rumbling began.

Andrews stared at Makepeace with wide eyes.  "Earthquake," he gasped out, as the deep sound grew in intensity, and the shaking rocks bounced and rolled.

Then all hell broke loose.

A deafening bang split the air.  The earth lurched, throwing Makepeace and Andrews around like rag dolls.  The two men tumbled backwards down the slope and crashed against a newly up-thrust tower of rock. The ground swayed, undulating drunkenly.  Makepeace clung to the stone, hoping it wouldn't collapse on top of him. Mesmerized with primal terror, he could only watch as the earth rolled like a stormy sea. With a loud crack, the outcrop he and Andrews had used for cover broke away from the hill.  The mass of crumbling rock and dirt slid downward, vanished from sight.  A thick dust cloud rose over the crest of the hill, marking the outcropping's passage.

The spheres rose higher, their cacophony a crescendoing tsunami of unrelenting sound, triggering more rock fall, more shaking…and then the noise ceased.  The earth went still.

The two men shared a panicky glance. A few moments later the sound of renewed staff weapon fire got them moving again. They grabbed their rifles and crawled back toward their former position.  They lay on their bellies, overlooking the edge of the cliff.  A few pieces of loose sediment and broken rock clattered down, but the ground beneath them held firm.

Below was chaos.  The artificial quake had cleaved the earth in two, forming a chasm almost three meters wide.  The rupture ran parallel to Makepeace and Andrews's hill, leaving Sitala and most of her forces on the far side. The servitors swooped down over them, drawing weapons' fire from the near-panicked Jaffa.

Ten more Jaffa were on the near side of the chasm, along with Johnson and Henderson.  The two Marines were pinned down behind a large boulder, using captured staves to exchange fire with their nearest assailants. Several bodies lay nearby, flesh charred and smoking.

"Let's give them a hand," Makepeace said.  He aimed his carbine and nailed one of the Jaffa.  Andrews took down another.

Johnson ducked down as a staff blast exploded against the boulder, sending jagged pieces flying.  Henderson popped out from behind the rock barrier and fired at the advancing warrior.  Blood, brains, and shards of bone spattered the bleak landscape.

Makepeace and Andrews pressed their bodies flat against the ground as a flurry of energy bolts broke against the rocks. Andrews fired off two more shots in rapid succession. Two more Jaffa fell.

Across the chasm, Sitala screamed commands in Goa'uld while her troops frantically tried to organize themselves and fire at the orbs flying overhead.  The servitors lined up and emitted another of their sonic blasts, and the first line of Jaffa collapsed. A lucky staff blast caught one of the globes, and it blew apart in a scintillating burst of pyrotechnics.

Sitala shouted something to her troops. Makepeace didn't understand the words, but the congratulatory tone made the meaning clear enough. Fucking Goa'uld bitch. Just the sound of her voice made his blood boil. Fiery hatred and all-consuming rage filled every corner of his soul.

Sitala had caused the destruction of this world, his World. She'd wiped out his People without thought for the beauty, the art, the knowledge that was now forever lost. That repulsive alien would do it again without a second thought, without even the merest hint of remorse.

He'd kill her if it was the last thing he did in this lifetime.

He looked through his sight and drew a bead on her, putting the crosshairs squarely in the middle of Sitala's beautiful/deformed face. A center-of-mass shot was out of the question. Even if Sitala didn't have a sarcophagus on hand, the snake in the brain might jump into a new host. He recalled how Captain Carter of SG-1 had gotten snaked—that the Tok'ra Jolinar had jumped into her when she'd given CPR to a dead man. Makepeace figured Sitala kept a few slaves around for just such an emergency.

With luck, the head shot would kill the snake along with the host. To be safe, he'd lob a grenade at her after she was down. Let that disgusting worm try to survive a transformation into red mist.

Sitala turned, squarely facing the hill, and stared up, almost as if she knew exactly what he was doing.  Makepeace couldn't have asked for a more perfect target.  He squeezed the trigger, firing off a three round burst from his carbine.

The bullets hit her forehead dead center—and ricocheted off.  The nearest Jaffa jerked and dropped his staff as one of the slugs caught him in the arm.

Makepeace swore. The bitch had one of those personal shields. She pointed up at him and snapped off some sharp commands, and he ducked away as his position was bombarded with staff blasts.

"Nice idea, Colonel," Andrews said from his hiding place. "Might've saved the galaxy a lot of future grief." He popped up, fired off a few rounds, and ducked down again.

Makepeace grunted in response. Saving the galaxy grief had been the last thing on his mind, but he was still too angry to care. Foreign anger. He’d never hated an enemy so personally, so violently that it messed with his priorities. Never mind that killing Sitala was the rational thing to do. He’d tried to do it for other reasons entirely.

God damn Varayimshaeta.

Down below, a Jaffa broke cover, shooting at Johnson. Makepeace lined up a shot and took the fucker out. Johnson and Henderson killed the last two on their side of the chasm.

A volley of energy bolts erupted from Sitala’s remaining troopers. The gold servitors lined up in the air. Makepeace didn’t have time to shout a warning before another of those sickening sound pulses ripped through him. The staff blasts ceased. Fighting nausea, he raised his head and saw that the Jaffa had all collapsed.

"Johnson! Henderson!" he yelled.

Brandishing their stolen staff weapons, his two men cautiously emerged from behind their boulder. They both looked shaky, but functional. They surveyed the steep hillside, now littered with rocky debris, and had a hurried conference.

"Can you guys get up here?" Makepeace called.

Johnson replied, "It looks pretty crappy, but we'll give it a shot."

The pair started to climb, scrabbling for hand and footholds in the crumbling scree. Part way up, the earth came loose in Johnson's hand. A cascade of dirt and shale rattled down the slope, taking him with it. He crashed into Henderson, and both men slid down to the bottom, where they landed in an undignified heap amid a shower of pebbles, dirt, and choking dust.

Andrews shouted, "You guys okay?"

Johnson and Henderson got back on their feet, brushing the dust from their bodies and cursing their bruises. Henderson called back, "Yeah, we're fine, but I don't think we can climb this mess."

"You'll have to try a different spot," Makepeace said. He looked around, assessing. "It looks more stable about twenty meters to the left."

Andrews said, "Better make it quick. There's signs of life from the bad guys."

Makepeace swung his rifle around and peered through the scope. On the opposite side of the rupture, the Jaffa were stirring. A little farther back, Sitala rose to her feet. As she straightened, her eyes flashed. Repeatedly. "I'd say she's pissed," he muttered, watching the way Sitala's eyes flared and faded, flared and faded, as she berated her men and shouted orders.

Johnson and Henderson jogged along the base of the hill. A single staff blast blew a hole out of the slope, bringing the two Marines up short. Andrews took out that Jaffa, but more had already gotten their feet under them as they recovered from the sound-stun.

"Climb!" Makepeace shouted. "Move your asses!"

His two men took to the steep incline, scrambling toward the top. Two more energy bolts crashed near them. They paused, hanging on to the hillside while ducking their heads to protect their faces from the spray of dirt and rock shards.

"Cover them," Makepeace ordered Andrews. Both men fired a hail of lead across the chasm. Still stunned Jaffa crawled or staggered drunkenly, while those more recovered bolted for shelter, then returned fire.

"God damn it, hurry!" Makepeace yelled over the noise.

Johnson and Henderson resumed their climb, but their progress was slow, too slow. A burst of energy hit the hill, closer to them than the last one. Again they stopped, as sparks rained down on them like fireworks. Johnson cried out as an ember burned his left hand. Another staff blast hit near Henderson, forcing him to hurriedly scuttle aside like an oversized land crab.

They weren't going to make it, Makepeace realized even as he killed another Jaffa.

Then the four remaining servitors flew over the hillside. They formed into a square and settled down around Henderson and Johnson, actually landing on the slope. When they again lifted into the air, they held two startled Marines suspended as easily as they had carried SG-3's gear through the emerald city.

The golden spheres flew Johnson and Henderson to the top of the rise, and gently set the two men down next to their goggling teammates.

Sitala and her troops had apparently been just as surprised by this action as the Marines, because they hadn't fired a single shot during the entire maneuver. Now Sitala furiously shrieked something in Goa'uld, and the barrage of staff blasts resumed with a vengeance.

SG-3 dropped flat on their bellies, pressing their bodies into the ground. Terrifying fireworks exploded around them. Sitala shouted more commands, and suddenly three death gliders screamed through the sky. Blasts of energy strafed the hill, coming dangerously close to the four men.

"The kid gloves are off," Andrews said, blinking dust from watering eyes. "She's torqued off pretty good. I don't think she's worried about keeping us alive anymore."

"No kidding," Makepeace said. "We've got to get out of here."

"To where?" Johnson asked. "Where the fuck can we go?"

Amid the bombardment, a lone servitor bobbed just above the men and circled frantically. Makepeace stared at it. "I think this guy's got an idea."

Having captured the Marines' attention, the servitor zipped back toward the city.

"Didn't we come from that direction?" Andrews said.

"The road's that way," Makepeace said with rising excitement. Maybe there was a chance for survival, after all.

The weapons' fire tapered off. The death gliders retreated, to circle in holding patterns over the pyramid ship. Sitala's amplified voice echoed through the foothills, warning the Marines they would be taken by force. She emphasized that some of them might be killed if they didn't surrender immediately.

Makepeace ignored the threats. "Come on," he said, and headed down the hill, back toward the city.

 

 


	25. Chapter 25

Makepeace skidded down the slope amid rolling gravel and dirt kicked loose by his boots. His men stumbled after him on the precarious footing, following the path he and Andrews had taken earlier. Earthquake damage littered the way, but nonetheless he navigated the rocky debris swiftly, not wasting any time worrying about safety.

He slipped when a patch of ground crumbled underfoot, caught himself, and rushed on. Behind him, he heard Johnson ask if he was all right, but ignored the question. Something deep inside him—something he refused to dwell upon—told him they had to hurry.

Down the slope they ran, up a short rise, then down again. The exit from the city came into view. Makepeace looked past it, down to the pair of bright, canary colored roads that waited on the flat area at the city's edge. The unnatural yellow was stark against the blue striated landscape. He'd never seen anything so beautiful.

Two death gliders buzzed overhead without attacking. Sitala must've gotten over her rage already, and it looked like she still wanted live prisoners. The gliders were probably just tracking SG-3's movements. So far.

That wouldn't last, but soon it wouldn't matter.

He paused, focusing on a barely perceptible sound, and his team came up beside him. Johnson said, "Colonel, what—?"

"Quiet," Makepeace said. "Listen."

From far away came a faint rumble, like a distant jet liner. A dark blot appeared on the horizon.

"Another train," Henderson breathed.

"It made sense that Vara had more than one available," Makepeace said. "Come on, we won't have much time once Sitala figures out what's going on."

SG-3 hurried the rest of the way down to the roads. A leading dust cloud rose as the train sped closer. A harsh wind kicked up, and heavy, black clouds moved in to blot out the sun. As the sky darkened, a flash of lightning seared the men's retinas then faded. Thunder sounded, drowning out the roar of the train. Watching the storm, Makepeace felt anticipation and a fierce sense of satisfaction.

The streamlined transport tube decelerated and stopped to hover before them. The door slid open. Before the ramp had finished extending Makepeace yelled, "Get on! Move it!" and gave each of his men a shove as they boarded to hustle them faster. He vaulted through the entrance right on their tails.

The transport sealed up. It shuddered and lurched, toppling the men off their feet. Then it started moving back in the direction it had come from.

"It can change direction on the same road?" Henderson said, scrambling across the floor to stare out the transparent sidewall.

Andrews winced and rubbed his butt. "Not gracefully."

Makepeace's knees felt bruised from the fall he'd taken. He scooted to the back of the train, seeing the emerald city recede into the distance.

And then the strangest thing happened: the city began to melt. The towers and arches dissolved, their sharp, faceted features liquefying into rounded lumps. Emerald rivulets ran freely into the earth. Everything dwindled away like a sand castle in the waves.

A few moments later, the last green humps vanished. Varayimshaeta's city was gone.

A frisson ran up Makepeace's spine, a nagging memory surfaced.

"Huh," he said.

"Sir?" Johnson asked.

"I finally remembered where I'd seen that china pattern before. It was my grandmother's. I haven't seen it since I was ten." She'd passed away that year, he remembered. He hadn't seen that china since, not until he had eaten off it in that city. And now it was gone again, like everything else Varayimshaeta had created for SG-3. He bowed his head, remembering two perfect little fetuses that he had consigned to death.

Johnson looked at him like he was crazy. Maybe I am, Makepeace thought.

The storm churned, the thick clouds rotating, gathering into bands and circular knots. Lightning flared, striking the ever more distant mountains. Blue-gray desert flashed by as the train rocketed back toward the Stargate.  Makepeace couldn't be sure, but it seemed like the vehicle was traveling even faster now than it had when SG-3 had first been conveyed to Varayimshaeta's city.  He wondered just how fast these things could move.

"Four-hundred parazong-zu-horu" bubbled up into his thoughts.  The answer was incomprehensible to him, as he had no idea what a parazong-zu-horu was.  He suspected that he could figure it out if he wanted. He just needed to do a little mental dredging and compare the results with the measurement systems he knew. He had no intention of even trying.

A pair of death gliders swooped down, weapons firing, the energy blasts raising clouds of dust and debris. The men ducked instinctively. The tinted, transparent walls made them feel exposed and terribly vulnerable. There was no false sense of security to be had; the threats outside were all too visible.

"They missed," Henderson said in a strained voice.

"They aren't trying to kill us. All they have to do is get us to stop, or knock us off the tracks," said Andrews. He stroked his rifle and watched the death gliders zoom up, back toward the clouds.

Makepeace said, "If they knock us off the tracks at this speed, we'll be dead, anyway."

"Not if Sitala's got a sarcophagus."

"We've already had this conversation."

Andrews didn't reply, he just continued to finger his rifle. A tense, forbidding atmosphere seemed to fill the space between Makepeace and Andrews. Johnson and Henderson studied their two teammates with wary curiosity. Johnson frowned and opened his mouth.

Makepeace glared at him and said, "Not now."

Johnson shut his mouth again.

The death gliders returned, strafing the train even closer this time. Explosions ripped the ground on either side of the cabin. The percussive force shook the train.

Makepeace watched helplessly, his hands clenched into fists. There was nothing he could do, nothing any of them could do. Except trust an enraged, alien computer to protect them.

Incredibly, that trust was not misplaced.

The greenish-black swirls of clouds overhead formed into small, tight whirlwinds. The tips of the vortices stretched down to touch the Goa'uld fighters.  The death gliders ruptured and exploded, their pieces flung wildly across the arid countryside.  Makepeace watched with a cold smile, while his men swore and marveled as the funnel clouds unraveled and vanished.  Somehow, the train hadn't even been jostled.

Localized mini-tornados seemed quite an effective weapon against small aircraft.  Makepeace wondered how they'd do against Sitala's ground forces, and wondered why Varayimshaeta hadn't employed them back at the city.  He thought hard about that, but no solid, unquestionable factoid revealed itself to him.  Instead, a vague impression of impotence arose, the feeling centered on the city itself. Apparently, the city and its grounds had been off limits. He figured the limitation was due to some strange, built-in programming that Varayimshaeta couldn't override.  Then again, the real reason might be something else entirely. He had no way of knowing what the problem was.

The capricious nature of the downloaded information in his head frustrated him.

Two more death gliders appeared and attacked the train. More mini-tornados formed, shattered the craft, and dissipated.

Andrews made a satisfied noise at the demise of the death gliders. "That's really something," he said.  "I'm sure glad Vara's on our side."

"Wait until we get to the Stargate," Johnson grumbled.  "It'll probably be swarming with Goa'uld.  Sitala's an idiot if she didn't lock it down first thing."

Makepeace's gut—or maybe something else that he didn't want to ponder too deeply—told him it wouldn't be a problem.  "Vara will take care of it."

His men gave him uncomfortable looks.  Johnson asked quietly, "You're sure, sir?"

Makepeace nodded.  "I just hope we get off this dirtball in time."  Now where the hell had that come from?

"In time for what, sir?"

Johnson's question echoed his own thoughts.  Makepeace's stomach churned, but again no solid answers were forthcoming.  He shrugged.  "I'm not sure.  Something bad."

Henderson said, "Something bad, like irradiating the planet again?  That got rid of the Goa'uld before."

Andrews gnawed his lower lip.  "Yeah, but it was only a temporary solution.  Remember, Vara said it was going to chase off the Goa'uld for good this time."

Varayimshaeta's words echoed through Makepeace's brain. "The World will be purified, and made safe for all time," he said. He deliberately didn't think about how or why he remembered the exact quote, but something in his brain tickled his consciousness with an uncomfortable, non-human literal-mindedness.

"That does sound permanent."

"Vara could always blow up the whole planet," Henderson said carelessly. "That's pretty permanent."

Everyone went very still.

Johnson turned to Makepeace and asked, "Colonel?  Can Vara do that? Commit suicide like that?"

"I don't know." But he suspected. Oh, yes. Makepeace was too aware that he was capable of suicide under the right conditions, and over the last few days it had become obvious that Varayimshaeta had absorbed more from him than just English.

Henderson said, "Whatever Vara does, it'll wait until we're through the Stargate, right? That's what it said, that it wanted to get us off the planet before it did anything drastic."

Under the scrutiny of his men, Makepeace restrained himself from fidgeting. "That was the gist of it," he said, hoping Varayimshaeta would hold by its words. "But it's not exactly sane and stable, at least not by our standards. If Sitala provokes it any worse than she already has..."

He didn't have to finish that statement. From the looks on their faces, his men all got the picture.

The landscape zoomed by, moving at a sickening speed. Makepeace forced himself to watch, controlling his stomach, hoping it was fast enough. Nearby, Henderson sat on the obsidian floor, checking and rechecking his weapons, saying nothing. Every so often Johnson would look outside and mumble a quick prayer. Andrews didn't pray, at least not to any benevolent god, to judge by the occasional bursts of profanity that issued from his mouth. Makepeace didn't care what deity intervened, as long as SG-3 got off the planet before Varayimshaeta implemented its ultimate solution to its Goa'uld problem.

Two more death gliders strafed the train and were efficiently dispatched by mini-tornados. After that, Sitala must have wised up, because there were no more direct attacks. Six death gliders flew in formation overhead, but didn't harass the train. Instead, they zipped forward, following the yellow roads, and disappeared on the horizon. All four men knew they'd be waiting for SG-3, along with any other troops that Sitala had left there to secure the Stargate.

Unless Varayimshaeta intervened.

 


	26. Chapter 26

The train hurtled onward. The storm grew darker and heavier, and the whole sky took on a greenish cast. Ahead, thick bands of black clouds arced over the horizon, looming ominously like the mouth of Hell.

"Now there's an ugly sight," said Andrews.

Henderson asked, "What's going on up there?"

No one could answer. Then something hard hit the top of the train with a loud bang. The men all jumped and looked up nervously. Another bang rattled the cabin. And another.

After that last hit, there was a moment of quiet, while SG-3 watched the transparent ceiling. Then the sky opened up. Thousands of white spheres the size of softballs pounded the train and the surrounding landscape. The cabin reverberated with deafening bangs. The men instinctively covered their ears and hunkered down, but it soon became clear that the walls and ceiling were strong enough to withstand the onslaught. Although the train shook with the force of the impacts, it kept moving forward without even slowing down.

"It's hail," Makepeace shouted over the noise.

The storm abruptly ceased. Shaken, the men unlimbered themselves from their protective crouches. Outside, everything was covered in hailstones. The balls of ice reflected the greenish-black color of the clouds, making the barren desert look even more alien and forbidding.

"Shit," said Andrews.

"Jesus, look at that," said Johnson, pointing forward.

In the long distance they could make out the black form of an enormous funnel cloud that stretched from the clouds to the horizon. A gray haze rose from the ground, surrounding the tornado. Bolts of lightning flared, blue-white against the churning sky, highlighting the ominous tableau. In the quiet cabin, the scene was all too eerie.

"That's big," said Henderson.

"Big? Shit, Tommy, it's the great granddaddy of all tornados," Andrews breathed.

Henderson shook his head. "Ten to one it's over the Stargate."

"And we're heading straight into it."

Makepeace said, "Calm down. It's dissipating already."

It was the strangest sight. As they watched, the tornado seemed to lose cohesion and just evaporate into fuzzy mist. In a few minutes it was entirely gone.

"I doubt any Jaffa survived that," Makepeace said smugly.

Johnson gave him another of those funny looks, but Andrews said, "Hell, yeah. Goa'uld Armageddon. Vara rocks."

A short time later they arrived at the dome. The train's door stood open, waiting patiently for them to exit, but no one could make themselves move. They only stared out, not sure what to make of what they saw.

All was silent and very, very still. Not even the tiniest breeze ruffled their hair, though black clouds still loomed low. After the wild storms, the men had been expecting devastation and gore. They'd prepared themselves for smoking wreckage, broken bodies, and buckets of blood. Instead, they saw very little evidence that the Goa'uld had ever been anywhere near the Stargate. A number of the giant hailstones littered the area. Strange, wide paths gouged in the earth gave evidence of the monster tornado that had scoured the area. Some twisted scraps of metal lay in a few places, but not enough to account for even one death glider.

Wordlessly, SG-3 walked down the ramp. Nothing else stirred.

"This is creepy," said Johnson, nervously clutching his rifle.

Makepeace nodded. It reminded him of when they'd first arrived on this world, when everything had **_felt_** dead to him. Only the occasional bit of Goa'uld metal gave any hint that there had been a living presence here just a little while ago. Now he was glad Varayimshaeta had not used any tornados back at the city; such a heavy-handed weapon might have killed them all.

"There's the dildo," said Andrews, pointing to a spot between the two yellow roads. "It's toast." Incredibly, it hadn't budged, despite the tornado. The object looked like it had exploded from within, its innards blackened and melted slag.

Makepeace became aware of a faint trembling beneath his feet. He looked down. "You guys feel that?"

Henderson said, "The ground's shaking."

"We'd better get off this planet, ASAP."

Johnson asked, "What's going to happen?"

Varayimshaeta's commiting suicide, something screamed in Makepeace's head. He said, "Something really bad. I don't think we should be here when the planet blows up."

"Amen," said Andrews fervently.

They hurried toward the dome's entrance. There they found one more indication of the former Jaffa presence. On the right side of the great, open doorway was a greasy, charcoal blot. It was vaguely man-shaped, although smudged. A few trickles of thin red liquid had run from it and were now drying on the curved wall.

Henderson grimaced and said, "Ew."

"Yeah, that pretty much covers it," Makepeace said, swallowing.

Andrews said, "I really don't get it. If Vara could do all this, why didn't it just wipe out the Goa'uld the first time they came here?"

With a sidelong look at Makepeace, Johnson said, "I figure, back then, Vara probably didn't know how to do this."

"No," said Makepeace, somberly. "It didn't."

All those eons ago, Varayimshaeta had only applied the crudest methods, sterilizing its own planet after all its People had died. Doing anything on that scale sooner would have resulted in unacceptable levels of collateral damage. It didn't possess much imagination, and hadn't had a seasoned Recon Marine's knowledge, creativity, or skill at killing available to it.

But now it did. Everything Makepeace knew, Varayimshaeta knew. Makepeace briefly shut his eyes, wondering what else Varayimshaeta had learned from him, what use it might put his own memories to. His knowledge and experience, even his emotions, combined with an insane, near-omnipotent computer's inhuman rage. It didn't bear thinking about.

"The sooner we're gone from here, the better," he said. "Vara won't wait forever."

Gold flashed on the horizon.

"That's Sitala's pyramid ship," said Andrews. "It's coming this way."

The gold object rapidly grew larger. Johnson shielded his eyes with a hand and peered into the distance. "She sure don't give up easy."

Unlike the other three, Henderson was staring down. He swallowed and said, "I think the ground's shaking harder."

They all felt the trembling increase steadily, a more ominous sensation than a full-blown earthquake would have been. Hailstones and pebbles jittered ever so slightly. In the sky, Sitala's ship was close enough now to look like a golden triangle. As they watched, it abruptly veered up, rising and disappearing into the clouds.

"What the hell?" said Andrews, gawking.

"That's it," declared Makepeace, "we're bugging out. Everyone into the dome. Johnson, dial the Stargate. Come on, move your asses!"

They bolted through the open door. Near the Stargate, the other Goa'uld spy device had also been destroyed, exploded from within just like its twin outside. The trembling underfoot turned to outright shaking. A faint rumbling could now be heard. Johnson clutched at the DHD for balance while he punched in the address for Earth. The Stargate flared into existence. Henderson sent the GDO code, and all gathered around, watching for the little indicator light to signal that the way home was clear.

Only a few seconds passed, but the time seemed to last forever while the shaking grew stronger and stronger, and the rumbling became louder. Then the light turned green.

"Go!" Makepeace shouted, but the team was already moving. Almost as one, the four Marines dived through the event horizon.

On the other side, they tumbled onto the SGC's ramp. Behind them, the wormhole just...disengaged. No fanfare, no disasters—it just shut down.

They all stood up and turned back to the Stargate. All around them were klaxons, flashing lights, and SFs. Up in the control room, Hammond was at the window, urgently demanding explanations over the loudspeakers. The four men of SG-3 just let it all wash over them as they stared stupidly at the inactive Stargate.

"Is it over?" Henderson asked, very quietly.

"Yeah, I think it is," Makepeace said, but he wasn't entirely truthful. It was over for his team, perhaps, but Varayimshaeta's memories and rage still lurked at the base of his thoughts, guaranteeing that, for him, it would last forever.

 


	27. Chapter 27

Three days later, Makepeace sat at his desk, staring at his computer and coming to terms with his new orders.

He had been indefinitely grounded. That hadn't been a surprise, since he himself had predicted that particular outcome. Fraiser and McKenzie had both recommended it, and Hammond had agreed. Makepeace was frustrated and angry, yet he understood their reasoning. How could he blame them for not trusting his state of mind, when he didn't even trust it himself? He'd have made the same call, had it been one of his men.

He hadn’t expected to be shipped off to Area 51, though.

He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. Varayimshaeta still sang in the dark corners of his head. His own mind had betrayed him, integrating the alien thoughts and memories so well with his own that he sometimes had trouble differentiating between them. They felt too familiar. The task was complicated by the fact that human beings had been substituted into the blank spots that Varayimshaeta's People should have occupied. Those memories he had to examine good and hard, picking them apart and analyzing them. Blue-gray dirt, the Zand-Faylakk road system, and emerald domes were the usual giveaways that the past events he remembered were not part of his own, Earth-born experience.

He couldn't help wondering if he was really the same person anymore. Small wonder McKenzie felt out of his depth and had opted to pass him on to the big guns.

He'd already had several sessions with McKenzie. The base shrink's strange expressions, so at odds with his soothing comments, had been warning enough that Makepeace's problems were out of McKenzie's league. It must be worse than Makepeace thought, for McKenzie to have come to his decision so quickly.

Then there was the tech angle. Part two of his new orders. Makepeace knew that the top brass had been very, very interested in all that apparently abandoned technology. All the circumstances told him so: the fact that Hammond had agreed to the extended mission on 3Y5-116 so quickly and easily, the alacrity with which he had provided all the survival gear Makepeace had requested for the survey. All done without question or delay. Additionally, Hammond had been ordered to reestablish contact with 3Y5-116, despite Makepeace's speculation that Varayimshaeta had destroyed its own planet. The control room techs had been dialing the address twice a day over the last two days—ever since SG-3's reports had been filed and forwarded. The Stargate never succeeded in making a connection.

Makepeace thought that was a blessing. He had no problems with obtaining technology for Earth. Until recently, he had approved whole-heartedly. The Goa'uld had to be stopped, before they did to Earth what they had done to Varayimshaeta's World. However, this last mission had taught him that some alien tech was a disaster waiting to happen. Varayimshaeta's had not been designed for humans, but for a truly alien species with a disturbingly non-human psychology. Earth would do better to stick to scavenging and trading for technology developed by humans and human-similar species. Makepeace had already said as much, several times, but no one wanted to hear that.

It was just as well 3Y5-116 was now "unreachable."

That wasn't going to stop the brass, though. No one wanted to believe that the planet was probably gone. Nor did they believe that there wasn't useful alien knowledge locked up in Makepeace's head. Even General Hammond had pressed him to look deeper into the new, alien places in his mind. Aside from Varayimshaeta's history lesson and a few odd bits of language and trivia, there was nothing. At least, nothing any weapons designers could use. On the flip side, the anthropology, linguistics, and archeology types—like Doctor Jackson and his cronies—were already requesting interviews.

Makepeace was leaving for Area 51 the next day. He might not be looking forward to his trip, but he also wasn't particularly sorry that he'd have to disappoint the prying scientists.

A knock on his door broke his train of thought. Just as well. "Come in," he called.

Lieutenant Johnson stepped into the office, his expression somber. "Ready to go, Colonel?"

Makepeace glanced at his desk clock. It was that late already? He'd lost track of time. As he got up, his gaze fell on the family photo on his desk, taken a few years earlier during happier times. The picture showed himself, standing to one side of his seated ex-wife Joanna. Her smile had always been incredible, he thought with a touch of melancholy. He had his arms around their daughters, Eleanor and Jillian, while Joanna held three-year-old Adam in her lap.

A vision floated through his head, of babies in gestation tanks, bathed in golden light.

Johnson said, "Sir?"

"I'm coming, Lieutenant." He pulled himself together and headed out into the corridor.

While Makepeace had been dealing with psychiatrists, physicians, scientists, and impatient superiors, all demanding answers to questions he didn't want to explore, Johnson had arranged a memorial service for the unnamed babies that Varayimshaeta had created from SG-3's genes. A private ceremony, just the four of them and the base chaplain, in the SGC's small chapel. Something to mark the passing of six tiny lives that should never have even existed. Something to ease four guilty, distressed, and angry souls.

Not too surprisingly, Johnson and Henderson had taken the news of their near deaths at their comrades' hands in stride. They admitted that they'd been expecting—even hoping—that Makepeace and Andrews would remember the pact they'd made at the destroyed train platform and honor it. They'd had no illusions about mercy from Sitala, and at the time there had been no other way out. They were all glad it hadn't come to that, and no one lost any sleep about that particular "might-have-been."

The babies, however, were another matter altogether. Lingering guilt and a sense of impotence haunted all four men.

Johnson was the most outwardly affected, and had taken to having long discussions with the base chaplain. Henderson had compartmentalized everything, and only discussed the fetuses in terms of biology and technology. Andrews was spending a lot of time at the rifle range.

Makepeace just tried to avoid thinking about the subject. It was fairly easy during the day, when he was preoccupied by demands for information while on duty. At night, when alien dreams and all-too-human nightmares threatened, he forced himself to concentrate on other things. Recreating obscure historical battles in his head, working out strategies for both sides that would result in alternate outcomes. His paperwork was all caught up and his house had never been cleaner. These methods worked. Usually.

It might seem somewhat pathological to an outsider like McKenzie, but the Marines were all coping in their own ways.

Makepeace and Johnson walked in taut silence. The chapel came into view. Another vision appeared in Makepeace's head, of Varayimshaeta's city dissolving and sinking into 3Y5-116's blue dust. He remembered the pain and accusation in Johnson's eyes when they'd had to leave the too-young fetuses behind, and said quietly, "Daryl, I am sorry about the babies."

Johnson stopped and regarded him with a solemn expression.

"We did what we had to do," Makepeace said. "There wasn't any other way."

"I know." Johnson heaved a weary sigh. "Doctor Fraiser confirmed Henderson's assessment after we described the babies to her. They were too young. It's just hard."

"Yeah." Makepeace wished they'd never stumbled upon the gestation chamber. He stared down, not meeting Johnson's eyes.

Johnson shifted from foot to foot. "Colonel," he said, sounding uncomfortable. Makepeace looked up. Johnson blurted out, "I would've made the same decision—about them—if I'd been in your place. That's hard for me to deal with."

Forgiveness, of a sort, and understanding. Makepeace briefly closed his eyes. "I know," he said, echoing Johnson's earlier words. "It takes time. We all need some space, I think." He did, especially. To deal with everything that had happened, all the decisions he had made, not just to mourn the doomed babies. Makepeace was almost glad he was going to Area 51 tomorrow. He might not like the reasons, but he could appreciate the distance it afforded.

Johnson nodded.

Makepeace opened the unadorned metal door. Inside, Henderson and Andrews were standing by the small, non-denominational altar, waiting along with the chaplain.

He said quietly, "Let's go," and together the two men entered the chapel.

 

 

***** the end *****

 

_July, 2006_

 


End file.
